


I'm Not Trying to Stop a Hurricane (I'm just trying to find a way to make it back home)

by cylobaby27



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Depression, F/M, First Time, Flashbacks, Implied Past Child Abuse, PTSD, Prosthesis, Sex, Suicidal Thoughts, Surgery, and staffed by a bunch of vets, fem!Bucky, modern!AU, no superheroes!AU, referenced past torture, run by Sam Wilson, youth ranch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-14
Packaged: 2018-02-04 16:15:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1785343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cylobaby27/pseuds/cylobaby27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bucky gets back from Afghanistan, minus an arm and a sense of optimism, Steve convinces her to come work at Falcon Camp, Sam Wilson's ranch for troubled teens. </p><p>Somewhere in the mess of angry teenagers, a charmingly awkward doctor, a steadfast best friend, and the other misfits that make up the ranch's staff, Bucky starts to find her way back to her feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Not Trying to Stop a Hurricane (I'm just trying to find a way to make it back home)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AceSpacePup](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceSpacePup/gifts).



"Make sure you mention helping out with your siblings," Steve warned as they approached the office. "And talk about that time you helped at the Y."

"Steve, I've got this," Bucky replied, rolling her eyes.

She didn't have to turn to see the skeptical glance Steve shot her way. They had been friends since elementary school, and knew each other better than anyone. For some reason, Steve stuck around anyway. 

"Besides, I thought this guy was your friend," Bucky continued. The cabin was small and cozy, decorated with rustic wooden furniture and more paintings of sunsets than anyone should have in one place.

Steve nodded. "He is. But he is very serious about this place. He won't just hire anyone."

"Stop worrying so much, Rogers. If he hired you, I shouldn't have a problem," she said, nudging him with her right shoulder. Her left arm was, as usual, tucked in the front pocket of her black hoodie. 

They reached the door to the ranch owner's office, and Steve knocked. 

"Come in," called a voice. 

They entered, and Bucky immediately scoped out the office. There was a window in the back, first floor, and a desk in the center of the room. The black man behind the desk was lean and strong, wearing jeans, a plaid shirt, and a friendly smile. The walls were covered in framed pictures, and more pictures were stacked on the desk mixed in with various papers and files. 

"Hi Sam," Steve greeted. "Sam, this is Bucky. Bucky, Sam."

Sam stood up and walked around the desk to shake Bucky's hand. "Hi. Steve talks about you a lot."

Bucky raised her eyebrows. "Don't believe a word this punk says," she warned him.

Sam laughed. "We've all been victims of Rogers-style trolling," he agreed. "But he's got good judgment."

"I'll let you two talk," Steve said, giving Bucky a thumbs-up before walking out of the office. 

"Grab a seat," Sam said. 

Bucky approached the chair, but waited until Sam was seated behind the desk to sit down. 

"Has Steve told you about what we do here?" Sam asked.

Bucky nodded. "You give kids a place to come," she replied. 

Sam smiled. "That sums it up. Falcon Camp is for troubled or struggling kids looking for a break and some tough love. It's all voluntary-- so parents can't send anyone who doesn't want to come-- and completely free. We're a non-profit, and not affiliated with the government. Most campers come for a few weeks in the summer, but we have some who are here for longer. Everyone helps work, and the adults I hire are here as counselors and supervisors. We keep one adult in each cabin, and there is someone supervising every activity."

"What kind of activities?"

Sam pointed at a glossy pamphlet sitting on the desk in front of Bucky. She picked it up and flipped through it quickly. Horse riding, trail maintenance, barn and cabin upkeep, crafts, group cooking, and other chores. 

"The long-term kids here for substance abuse recovery or as a foster home help with the activities we put on for the summer camps. We're giving them a stable home so they have somewhere they can grow up," Sam continued. "If any of the kids act up, we have set punishments."

"Punishments?" Bucky prompted, voice cooling. 

"Extra chores, kitchen duty, that kind of thing." He met her gaze. "No child will be abused physically or emotionally at this camp while I'm here."

She nodded once. 

"Now, our last female counselor, Melinda May, has just gone into retirement, so we're looking for someone new. We try to keep a few women on staff, just in case there's anyone who'd prefer to confide in a one, but I'm not just hiring the first woman who comes looking for a job," Sam said. "The camp isn't just beneficial for the kids. The adults who work here should get something out of it too-- a peaceful place to work, a way to bond with other people, somewhere that can accommodate disabilities."

Bucky felt herself bristle at the comment, but his eyes didn't move from her face. 

"I tend to hire vets or other people who have trouble finding a job. It's not just because I was in the Air Force-- these kids need to see that people can go through rough times and come out the other end stronger."

"Like Steve," Bucky said. 

"Like Steve. He went through a hard patch when you were MIA. If he hadn't been here, I think he would have climbed on a plane and gone looking for you himself."

Bucky shook her head. "That's exactly the sort of thing that dumbass would do."

Sam shrugged. "He's loyal and stubborn. He vouches for you, which means a lot in my books. You like kids?"

"I have five younger siblings," Bucky told him. "My mom was a nurse, so I pretty much raised them. Kids are talked down to too much-- they understand more than most people give them credit for."

"I agree," Sam said. "But some of these kids have been through a lot. Have you ever worked with a trauma patient?"

Bucky gritted her teeth. "There weren't exactly many soldiers who didn't meet that description," she told him. "I did what I could for them."

Sam studied her with kind, dark eyes. "You'll need a psych eval and a background check before you start. Your starting salary will be $50,000, and you'll have room and board, along with three meals a day."

Bucky felt her eyes widen. "I thought you were a non-profit," she said. 

"That doesn't mean we expect people to work for free," Sam said, "and if we find good people, we want to pay enough to keep them."

"How do you--?"

"The Maria Stark Foundation sponsors the camp. They do it anonymously so the camp stays out of the spotlight, but they keep us in business. Steve didn't tell you?"

Bucky shook her head. 

Sam grinned. "He takes his confidentiality agreements seriously," he said. "So, do you accept the job offer?"

"I thought you'd need to know more about me," Bucky said. "What happened to not hiring the first woman who interviews?"

"You're not," Sam said. "We've had two others come in. Steve's a good judge of character, but it's my specialty. You're going to do your best by these kids, right?"

"Yes, sir," she said. 

"The name's Sam-- this isn't the army," he told her. "You in?"

"I'll take the job."

\----

By the next Saturday, Bucky was back at the ranch, a duffle bag slung over her shoulder. She had a long sleeve button-up draped over a tank top, and wore worn boots over her jeans. The psych eval had come back clean-- Bucky had learned how to ace those long ago-- and the background check had come up with the incidents Bucky had expected, none of which were enough to make Sam take back the job offer. 

Steve met her at her silver pick-up by the main ranch house, grinning so wide that Bucky almost expected to see a tail wagging behind him. 

"Hey, Bucky," he said. 

She gave him a lazy salute. "Cap," she greeted. 

"Most people are getting set up for the first camp of the summer to come in tomorrow," he told her. "There's not much set-up needed for the lake, so I offered to show you around."

Bucky shrugged and followed Steve. The ranch was set up like a drawn bow with the main house in the center and the four cabins in a half-circle behind it. Further back were the stables and pastures, and the lake was at the far east end of the land. Like most of Colorado, the area was covered in rocks and small hills, though the entire property rested in a valley between two mountains. 

It was early June, so the area was covered in grass and wildflowers where the horses hadn't grazed it clean. 

Bucky took a deep breath, enjoying the mountain breeze that played with her long braid, threatening to unravel it. There wasn't a trace of hot sand anywhere. 

"You'll be sleeping in the main cabin for now," Steve told her, gesturing to one as they walked by on the way to the stables, "and working with one of the family, Peter, in crafts during the day."

"One of the family?" 

"One of our long-term kids. Peter was raised by his aunt and uncle, but they both passed away last year. He'll probably be here until he's 18," Steve explained. 

"Steve, you know I don't have an artistic bone in my body," she reminded him. 

"I recommended that you work with Natasha with the horses, but Sam didn't want to push you too hard," Steve said. "You're still adjusting."

Bucky shoved her prosthetic arm deeper into her pocket. "I'm not a fucking invalid."

"No," Steve agreed. "But you don't know if you're still strong enough to rein in a horse that gets spooked. Until you've tested it out a bit, you're on craft duty."

"Fine," Bucky said shortly. 

They walked past a weapons range, and Bucky looked at it curiously. "Gun range? Maybe this place isn't as boring as you made it sound."

Steve shook his head. "Archery range," he said, waving to a blonde man that was setting up targets at the far end. The man jogged over, a golden retriever at his heels. He was slimmer than Steve, with dirtier hair, but a wide grin and a glint of mischief in his eyes. "This is Clint," Steve said. "Hey Clint, this is Bucky, my friend I was telling you about."

Clint held out a hand for her to shake, and as she did, she noticed a pair of flesh-colored hearing aids in each ear. 

"Who's the dog?" she asked, looking down at it. One of its eyes scarred over, but its tail was wagging as it looked up at its owner. 

"Lucky," Clint said, patting its head. Bucky raised her eyebrows, and Clint shrugged. "He's still alive, isn't he?"

"That doesn't always mean you're lucky," Bucky said flatly. 

Steve shifted so that he was slightly between Bucky and Clint, looking into Bucky's eyes. "Clint teaches archery to the kids. We thought it was less stressful than guns."

"You ever used a bow before?" Clint asked her. 

Bucky shook her head. "You don't see many bows and arrows in Brooklyn or in basic," she said. "I've seen Robin Hood, though."

Clint grinned. "I'd be worried if you hadn't. See you at dinner," he said, nodding at them and strolling back onto the range, whistling 'Not in Nottingham' as he went. 

As Bucky and Steve continued toward the barn, she said, "He's deaf?"

"Mostly," Steve said. "It's from an injury from when he was younger. If he's got Lucky with him and people turn so he can read lips, he can function fine."

"Wow, you've got a whole crew of cripples," Bucky said bitterly. 

"Don't call yourself that," Steve snapped. "Or Clint." 

"Cool it, Rogers," she replied. "Just being real."

"You're a war hero," he told her. 

"Sure," Bucky said easily, averting her gaze. 

She felt Steve's stare on her, but he was distracted as they reached the barn and a woman stepped out to meet them. "This is Bucky?" The woman was redheaded and petite, and was dressed in riding pants and a striped hoodie. 

"This is her," Steve confirmed. "Buck, this is Natasha. She's in charge of the stables. If you ever want to go for a ride, she's your girl."

Bucky raised her eyebrows, looking at Natasha. "Is that a promise?"

"Cute," Natasha said drily. "Steve said you might want to help in the barn later. You ever ride before?"

"I spent a summer working on a farm in college," Bucky said. 

"Practically an expert," Natasha said, raising her eyebrows. 

Bucky lifted her chin. "I can handle myself," she said. 

"I don't doubt it," Natasha said. Even though she had a straight face, Bucky could tell she was laughing at her. 

"All right, all right, you can have your pissing contest later," Steve said. "Come on, Buck, I'll show you the lake and then your cabin."

"See you around, Bucky Barnes," Natasha said. 

\----

The residents who weren't, like Steve, Natasha, and Thor, assigned to a kids' cabin, stayed in the main house. In addition to Sam's office and a group kitchen and living room, there were four bedrooms. 

Bucky had been given the only empty room, in the back corner of the house. It was clearly meant for more people, since it had a private bathroom and was furnished with a bunk bed, but Sam must have been as selective as he said when it came to his staff. 

After Steve's tour, Bucky had had an hour to relax on her own before it was dinnertime. By the time she entered the main kitchen, everyone else seemed to be there, sitting at one of two long tables and passing around dishes family-style. Bucky sat down beside Steve at the edge of the group. "Lots of seating," she commented. In addition to the chairs for the eight residents, there were at least fifteen extra. 

"The kids eat here too," Steve explained, passing Bucky a basket of biscuits. "Sam makes the best food."

"You cooked all this?" she asked Sam, who sat on the other side of Steve.

He grinned at her. "My mom taught me how to feed big groups," he said. 

Impressed, Bucky took a biscuit and then passed it across the table to a curly-haired man she hadn't met yet. He wore a dark purple shirt and had a pair of wire frames on his nose. Bucky didn't usually go for the boring professor types, but he was cute. "Thanks," he said. "Bucky, right?"

"That's me," she said. "You are?"

"Bruce Banner." 

"I'm the doctor," he said, taking a biscuit and passing the basket to Clint. 

She raised her eyebrows. "You mean this place has a resident doctor?"

He shrugged, steadily tearing the biscuit to shreds over his plate. "Tony--Stark, that is-- introduced me to Sam. The ranch is pretty far from the nearest clinic, so I'm around when needed. Luckily, it's not usually for more than a cold or a scrape." 

"Isn't that the sort of thing school nurses can handle?"

"Well, it's for the best. I actually have my doctorate in biochemistry." When Bucky raised her eyebrows, he added, "But I've done field medicine around the world. I can handle just about anything that gets thrown at me." 

"You didn't want to work somewhere that needed you?" Bucky asked. Steve kicked her under the table, and she glared at him. "What?"

Bruce put on a self-deprecating smile, like he was the butt of a joke only he knew. "I'm not cut out for life on the road."

"We're lucky to have Doc Banner," said a lanky teenager on Natasha's other side. He waved at Bucky. "I'm Peter Parker."

"My new arts and crafts assistant," Bucky said, nodding. 

"Whoa, whoa, I'm pretty sure you're my assistant. I've got seniority."

"You're like twelve," she said. 

"I'm seventeen. And I've been here longer. The craft table is, like, my thing."

Steve held a tray of lasagna in front of Bucky, so she dropped the conversation in favor of carving out a slice of the pasta and plopping it onto her plate. 

As everyone talked and joked around her, she picked up her fork and stabbed it into the lasagna, trying to cut through the tough cheese layer, but the noodles kept sliding away. Instinctively, she brought up her left hand to steady her plate, but the movement made her flinch. Gritting her teeth, she lifted the arm higher and rested it against the plate. Finally, she managed to slice off a piece and eat it. 

"You need a new arm."

"Excuse me?" Bucky snapped, looking up at the doctor. 

"It's just, uh, it doesn't seem like it's very comfortable. Is the prosthetic irritating your shoulder?" 

"My missing arm is irritating my shoulder," she snarled, drawing Steve's attention. He put a hand on her thigh as a steadying presence. 

Bruce didn't meet to her aggressive gone. "I can take a look at it. Come by the clinic tomorrow when you have time."

"The VA doctors already looked at it," Bucky told him, her teeth gritted in an attempt to keep an even tone. 

"It can't hurt to have another opinion that's not funded by the government," Bruce pointed out.

"I'll make sure she comes tomorrow," Steve told him. 

Bucky turned on him. "A word, Rogers? Outside?" She stood up and stormed out of the dining room without bothering to make sure he was following. He always followed her. 

The Colorado air was crisp after dark, and the scent of horses and wildflowers was strong in the air. 

When she heard the door close and Steve's footsteps stop behind her, she whirled around. "What the hell, Steve?" she demanded, shoving at him with her good arm. "You're not in charge of me."

When he had been younger, she could have pushed him around without putting any energy behind it (not that she would have). Now, after a near-miraculous growth spurt and two tours in the army, Steve barely shifted when she hit him. 

"You're in pain," he said. "You think I couldn't tell?"

"Doesn't seem like any of your business," she said. 

Steve crossed his arms. "Do you remember dragging me to doctor after doctor when we were young? Was that any of your business?"

"Not the same," she said. "You're too damn stubborn for your own good."

"And _clearly_ you don't have that problem," Steve said. "Ask anyone, they'll tell you Bucky Barnes is the least stubborn woman alive. Oh wait."

"Shut up, punk," she said, but the fight was draining out of her. 

"You said that you'd try," Steve reminded her. "This is part of that. And I'll drag you to the clinic by the scruff of your neck if I have to."

"I hate you," she grumbled. 

He pulled her into a one-armed hug and dropped a kiss on top of her head. "Love you too."

\----

The main house quieted down by midnight, everyone easily navigating between each other during their nightly routines. 

Bucky lay on the top bunk in her room, staring at the ceiling, long after everyone else had stopped moving. 

The cabin made the variety of creaks and groans that were standard in all old houses: creaking pipes, popping floorboards, rattling air conditioners. Bucky knew that none of the noises spelled danger for her. 

Still, she kept her eyes open. 

Just in case. 

\----

"Forget about the arm," Bucky declared as she strolled into the clinic, which was in one of the smaller cabins. In contrast to its rustic outside, the interior was sleek and modern, with spotless stainless steel surfaces and a white-tiled floor. "Give me something for a headache."

"I assume the kids have all arrived?" Bruce asked. He was standing by a table with a shorter man with a sharp goatee, going over something on the other man's Stark tablet. 

"En masse," Bucky said. "There are only twelve, but they seem like so many more."

"These are the older teens, right?" Bruce inquired. 

Bucky nodded. "They have the next month here, and then they swap with the younger kids."

"You don't like kids?" asked the other man. He was lean and muscular, but had a relaxed pose that told her he wasn't a threat. 

"I like them just fine. I'm just used to smaller groups," Bucky explained. "I thought they'd be shyer at first."

The man hummed and looked back at the screen. 

"Most of our kids come back every year," Bruce told her. "I'm sure they're glad to be back. Most come from inner-cities and only see the open air like this during camp."

Bucky nodded, leaning against the wall across from the men. "I know what that's like. I didn't see a real mountain until I was in college."

"You can come over here and take off that hoodie," Bruce told her, gesturing to an uncomfortable-looking bed covered in the disposable tissue paper that Bucky hated. 

Bucky tilted her head at the other man, who showed no signs of leaving. "Who's that?" she asked. 

"Tony Stark," the man said, giving her a lazy wave. "Ignore me. I'm just keeping Brucie here company while I go through my patent applications."

Hesitating, Bucky raised her eyebrows at Bruce. "I can kick him out if it makes you uncomfortable. Just because he funds this place doesn't make him king."

Bucky immediately started maneuvering out of her hoodie. Like fuck was she admitting discomfort just because some sleazy billionaire was going to get an eyeful of her biggest vulnerability. She'd handled worse. 

"I resent that," Stark said, not taking his eyes off the screen. "I'm definitely the king. Maybe the emperor."

"Sure you are," Bucky said, tossing her hoodie onto the back of the bed. "I was in the army," she told Bruce defiantly. "I've worn a lot less in front of a lot more people."

Bruce hissed under his breath when he looked at her shoulder, and she kept her gaze straight ahead. She knew what he was seeing. Her shoulder was covered in healed scars from the blast, and the area around the arm was inflamed and bleeding in a few spots from the chafe of the prosthetic. 

"This looks..." Bruce trailed off, fingers hovering just over her skin as he looked closer. 

"You've got shitty bedside manner," Bucky pointed out. "You're supposed to act like you've seen worse."

"I have seen worse. That doesn't mean that I can't tell this is painful. This was not fitted well, and you're risking infection leaving it in. Who did this?"

"The good doctors at the VA hospital," Bucky told him. "Look, my shoulder is still healing, but I wasn't about to walk around with no arm, so I let them do their thing."

"You were probably better off without the arm," Stark said, ambling closer. 

Bucky tensed and resisted the urge to punch somebody or run away. 

"I could make something better than this with my eyes closed," Stark continued. 

"Good for you," Bucky snarled. 

Bruce frowned contemplatively, cleaning his glasses on the edge of his shirt. "It would need to be lightweight to balance with her other arm."

"I've got a titanium alloy that could be the shell, and SI has the tech to make it respond to neural prompts," Stark said. "How do you feel about gadgets in the fingers?"

"I don't..." Bucky said, looking between them in confusion. 

"You've been watching Disney again," Bruce said. "Just because Captain Hook liked to replace his hook with a fishing pole doesn't mean it has real-world benefits. Besides, if you give it full grasping power, she wouldn't need the internal tools."

Stark nodded. "Keep the arm simple, but capable of doing anything a hand could, but with more strength. I bet I can pull a prototype together by Saturday. Does two work for you?"

Bucky blinked at him. "Are you…I can't afford that."

Stark waved her concern away with a dismissive hand. "If I can get your arm functioning, I can give the specs to my team at SI to pull together a marketable version. Yours will just be practice."

Gathering herself, Bucky have him a skeptical look. "I'm not sure I want to be your practice. What if I end up worse off than I am now?"

Stark puffed up. "I'm a fucking genius," he said. "I can manage a prosthetic."

"I don't know-- my StarkPhone glitched out after a few weeks. I had to get it replaced," Bucky told him, grinning.

Bruce was laughing quietly, covering his mouth with his hand, as Stark said, "Manufacturing error. If they had just kept my full design and not cut corners, it never would have-- Okay, listen, you're getting this arm, and it's going to be the best goddamn arm in the world."

"I guess we'll see on Saturday," Bucky said. 

"Bruce!" Tony said, turning to the other man, who couldn't wipe his smile completely away. "Take her measurements and send them to me. I'm going to go sit over there and work. Don't bother me unless you're dying."

Bucky watched with raised eyebrows as the short man swept over to a corner of the clinic, put headphones in his ears, and then called up an elaborate hologram from his tablet. "All right, JARVIS, what can we do with this?"

"Who's he talking to?" Bucky asked Bruce out of the corner of her mouth. 

"His AI," Bruce said. "It's basically his personal assistant."

"Without the hot body," Bucky mused. "Though I guess he gets enough of those in his free time."

Bruce chuckled. "Don't believe everything you read. Now come on, I need to take off the prosthetic to measure for the new one."

Though Bucky was tensed for pain, Bruce was amazingly delicate as he worked around her inflamed shoulder. The tips of his fingers barely brushed her skin, and he acted with a calm steadiness that Bucky had rarely encountered in doctors.

When he was finished and had typed in her measurements to be sent to Stark-- though he was only on the other side of the lab--Bruce helped her put the prosthetic back on. He handed her her hoodie, and then asked hesitantly, "Do you mind if ask how it happened? It's just, it's not common for people these days to need a full limb amputation."

"Steve didn't tell you?" 

"I'm afraid I tend to keep to myself. I'm not sure he would have anyway-- he doesn't seem to be the kind of person who would give away someone else's story," Bruce said, leaning against one of the other beds, facing her. His hands continued to fidget, but he met her gaze. 

"Steve and I enlisted together," she said. 

When she broke off, Bruce didn't prod her. After a moment, she collected herself and continued, "We were in the same squad for a while, but he got promoted and I stayed behind. He always was the smart one. A few weeks later, we were patrolling the city--Mazar-i-Sharif---and we didn't spot the IED on the road. Part of my arm blew off then." She kept the words matter-of-fact, even as the memory of the pain and the fire and the screaming and the sand threatened to overwhelm her. "I got taken hostage. By the time I got back to the States, they needed to take off the whole arm due to infection." 

"That... That sucks," Bruce said. 

Bucky barked out a laugh. "Yeah, it does."

"You shouldn't have had to go through that. I really hate the world sometimes," Bruce said, and there was an unexpectedly strong glimmer of deep anger in his eyes. 

"There are a few good parts," Bucky said with a shrug. "That's what I signed up to protect. War wasn't exactly what I thought it would be, though."

"Nothing ever is," Bruce agreed. His mild-mannered mask fell in place again, but Bucky knew what she had seen. 

\----

The arts and crafts room was in the attic of the main house, and featured a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the mountainous landscape. There was a table set up beside a tall cabinet of supplies, and beanbag chairs littered the floor. For the most part, though, the handful of kids who had signed up for crafts instead of horseback-riding, canoeing, or archery lessons were more interested in talking to each other than appreciating the room or drawing. 

"Do I need to explain the assignment again?" Bucky asked, standing over the table. Three of the kids had blank papers in front of them, but the girl in the corner was bent over her page, drawing steadily. "If you're bored up here, I'm sure Natasha could use someone to help shovel out the stables."

The kids quieted down and turned to their papers, pouting quietly. 

Bucky strolled back over and plopped on a beanbag beside Peter.

"How did the last person handle them?" Bucky asked. "Melinda, or whatever her name was."

"Melinda used to have Thor's job maintaining the horse trails, and he was in here. This is where newbies get stuck usually, but Thor was great. He usually let the kids do about whatever they wanted. Then again, not many kids will act out when their teacher is a six-foot tall, muscular god."

Bucky had met Thor the day before, and found she couldn't argue with Peter's description. 

"If only newbies end up teaching crafts, why are you here?" she asked. 

He shrugged. "I like the outdoors stuff better when it's just the permanents around," he said. "It's better with just a few people."

"Are there any other permanent kids?" Bucky asked, trying to remember if she'd been introduced to any. 

Peter shook his head. "Mary-Jane, Harry and Gwen all turned 18 last year."

"They got kicked out?"

"Like Sam would ever. They just decided to go to college. Maybe they'll be back later in the summer," Peter said, not sounding very hopeful. 

Bucky shrugged. "When do you turn 18?"

"Next month," Peter said quietly. 

"So you're going to college in the fall, right?"

Peter was quiet for a moment. "Well, I got into college. But it's in New York."

Bucky raised an eyebrow, settling back in her beanbag. "You got a problem with New York?"

"It's, like, a thousand miles away!" Peter said, gestures growing to match his energy. "I'd never get to see Falcon again! And I don't know anyone up there except Harry, and _he_ lives in his father's penthouse in Manhattan."

"Oh god, is this an existential crisis? This is not my thing," Bucky said. "Have you talked to Steve about it? He's good at this stuff."

"But he's the one who helped me with my application," Peter said, flopping backward so dramatically that he nearly tumbled off his beanbag. "He'll be so disappointed if I don't go."

Bucky sighed. "Look, kid, do what you've got to do, but know that Steve would _never_ be disappointed in you for doing what you think is right for you. Trust me, once you've got that man's respect, it's hard to shake it off.

"For what it's worth? I think you should go. No one here is gonna forget about you while you're gone, and you may find you like the city more than here."

"I don't see how that's possible," Peter muttered. 

"Then after you graduate, you can come back here and be the art teacher forever and ever. At least then you'll be making an informed decision," Bucky said. 

Peter shrugged. "Why did you come out here?"

"Because Steve Rogers is a bully. Now come on. Help me scare some obedience into these kids."

\----

True to form, Steve insisted on coming with her to see Stark's new prosthetic on Saturday. 

"I just hope it's not red and gold," Bucky said as they walked to the doctor's cabin. "StarkTech is so flashy."

"Not unlike the man himself," Steve said. 

Bucky raised her eyebrows at Steve's tone. "You've met him?"

Steve nodded. "Once-- it didn't go well."

"What did he do?"

"He's an entitled brat," Steve said. 

"Isn't he funding this whole place?" Bucky asked. 

"This place is just his, his, pet project. He's never actually struggled a day in his life."

"Man, he really got under your skin," Bucky said with an impressed whistle. They paused outside the cabin, and Bucky turned to him. "Just bite your tongue in there, okay? Try not to scare away the nice billionaire."

Steve held up his hands placatingly. "Only if he deserves it."

"You're such a punk," Bucky said, rolling her eyes and opening the door.

To Bucky's surprise, both Bruce and Stark were already inside. "You're on time. I'm impressed," she said. 

"Well, I'm on time for this, which means I'm an hour late for a board meeting," Stark said. "I'm procrastinating."

"Isn't SI headquartered in LA?" Bucky asked. "How do you even keep getting out here?"

"Private jet," Stark said, spinning a finger in a lazy 'whee' gesture. "Enough chitchat. You ready to see a technological marvel?"

Stark picked up a briefcase at his feet and opened it, setting it on one of the spare beds. Involuntarily, Bucky's breath hitched when she saw it. Unlike the chunk of plastic currently attached to her shoulder, the Stark arm was sleek and silver, covered in hinged plates that blended together smoothly. 

"I didn't want to add any color until I checked with you. I can make it match your skin, or add in a big star or some flames."

"Don't you fucking dare," Bucky said, reaching out to run a hand over the metal. It was cold to the touch, but warmed almost immediately under her fingers. "It's gorgeous."

"It really is," Steve murmured, looking at the prosthetic. "It's anatomically perfect."

"That's big praise coming from him," Bucky told Tony. "Steve's an artist."

Despite the comment, Steve was frowning. "How much will this cost?" he asked. 

Shaking his head, Stark said, "I already told Bucky-- no cost."

Steve pinned Stark with an assessing stare. Having been on the other end of that look on many occasions, Bucky was glad Steve was on her side. "This has to be hundreds of thousands of dollars in technology," Steve said. "What do you want in return? People don't just give away stuff like this."

"I see that stick's still up your ass," Stark said. "Bruce said you were less of an asshole now that you've got your bestie back, but clearly he was wrong."

"That's not--"

"The arm is free. No charge. No expectation." Stark turned to Bucky. "Just use it. Let me know if you run into any bugs. That's all I want."

Bucky nodded, but Steve looked confused. "Why would you do that? You don't even know her."

"Shut up, Steve. I want the damn arm," Bucky said, elbowing him."

Stark sighed. "I'm not going to yell take-backsies just because your boy is a jerk. Look, Rogers, I make stuff. That's my job. I like making things. I stopped building weapons because I wanted the things I create to make the world better instead of worse. Let me give your friend her damn arm."

"I..." Steve paused, looking at Stark again. "Thank you," he said sincerely, making the other man look surprised. 

Bucky's best friend was a man of strong convictions, and it sometimes took him time to change his mind, but he never let that stop him from admitting when he was wrong about something-- or someone.

Bruce was still not convinced. "How much does it weigh?"

"Nine pounds," Stark replied. "Based on Bucky's weight and build, it should match her other arm perfectly. It's completely practical. Come on, I want to see it on."

Bruce looked at Bucky. "Do you want some time to think about it?"

Shaking her head, Bucky pulled her hoodie over her head. "Get this fucker off of me," she said, nodding toward her plastic prosthetic. 

Bruce gestured her to a table in the center of the clinic, already prepped with tissue paper. 

Bucky hesitated when she saw a line of surgical instruments on a stand beside it. They were in pristine condition, not rusted and covered in her blood, but the sight still made Bucky's stomach turn traitorously. 

She didn't realize she had stopped in her tracks until she felt Steve's steady presence stop behind her. "Is this going to take surgery?" Steve asked coolly, and she could feel the rumble of his voice through the chest pressed to her back. She took a deep breath with the movement, realizing that she was light-headed. "That's an important detail to leave out."

"The tools are for the arm to make sure it's adjusted correctly once it's on," Bruce said. His voice didn't sound patronizing even though Bucky had nearly panicked over a few tools, but it was still calming. Bruce had a way of speaking to you like an equal, instead of the paternalistic way doctors tended to have. 

"This prosthetic is myoelectric," Stark explained. "Electrodes are going to connect to the muscles around your arm, and will translate the flexing of your shoulder into the arm's motion. It might take a while for it to learn your movements, but my tech adapts quickly." 

"That's amazing," Bucky admitted. 

He shrugged. "If you want it to be sturdier, we could connect it internally, but then you wouldn't be able to remove it, even for repairs. And as awesome as it is, it might not be fun to sleep with."

"He's speaking from experience," Bruce told them dryly. "I've seen him cuddling his bots in his sleep."

"Traitor," Stark said, sticking his tongue out at the doctor. "You have no sense of gratitude."

"Are you ready, Bucky?" Bruce asked. She noticed he was standing carefully away from the tray of tools. 

She nodded. "Let's do this."

It took nearly an hour to make sure the arm was aligned correctly with Bucky's muscles. Steve and Stark both hovered as Bruce worked, with the soldier distracting Bucky with conversation as the billionaire gave Bruce alternating useless commentary and helpful advice. Even when Bruce was bickering with Tony, his hands were completely steady. 

The metal arm encased a large part of her shoulder, secured in place by a harness that wrapped around her torso. The material of the harness was so light that Bucky barely noticed it, and the arm's weight made her feel balanced for the first time since the explosion. She stared down at the metal arm, flexing her fingers with a simple thought. The movement of the silver plates caught the cabin's overhead lights, rippling like water. 

"You did this in five days?" Bucky asked incredulously, running her other hand over the limb. 

"Yep!" Stark replied.

Bucky glanced over at him, noting the overly bright eyes and shaking fingers. "Have you slept at all?"

Stark shook his head. "Sleep is for the weak."

"You need to sleep," Steve said. 

"Yeah, yeah, I'll do it later. I've just got some CEO stuff to take care of before then. And some inventor stuff. You know what, I'll have to reschedule the sleep."

Bucky grinned when she saw Steve's gaze turn determined. Stark didn't know what he was in for. "You need to sleep," Steve said again. "Luckily, you're at a youth ranch that has about two dozen beds on site."

"Are you inviting me to bed?" Stark asked lasciviously, raising his eyebrows. 

To Bucky's surprise, a blush spread over Steve's face, though his expression didn't change. "I'm telling you that I'm not letting you leave until you've slept."

"I can sleep on the plane."

Bucky turned to Bruce and muttered, "Should I call Steve off?"

Bruce shook his head. "He's got Tony arguing. That's practically an invitation to convince him."

"I've seen the hot-rod car you drive to get here," Steve continued. 

Stark grinned. "Jealous?"

"Being sleep-deprived is like being drunk when it comes to reaction times," Steve said. "You can't drive like that."

"I have before."

"Drunk or sleep-deprived? Never mind, I don't even want to know. If you go sleep now, you can stay for dinner."

"I have a personal chef in LA."

Steve paused. "Have you _had_ Sam's cooking?"

Stark hesitated, clearly wavering, so Bucky added, "And then after dinner, we can test out this new arm. How much do you think it can lift?"

"The question is, what can't it lift?" Stark replied. "Come on, Rogers. Take me to bed."

Steve blushed again, but ushered the billionaire out of the clinic. 

Once they were gone, Bucky turned to Bruce. "You were right," she said. 

"No need to sound so surprised."

"How did you even meet Stark? You seem so different."

"Jail," Bruce replied. 

Bucky laughed, but sobered when Bruce just shrugged. "Wait, seriously?"

Bruce hesitated, looking at her. 

Raising her eyebrows, Bucky raised her eyebrows. "Don't demur on my account. I was in the army-- I've met all types. I can guarantee I've killed more people than you."

"I used to have some... anger management problems."

Bucky had met all sorts of men who qualified as having anger issues, but Bruce didn't match any of the stereotypes. Then again, the most adoring spouses in public sometimes turned out to be the most violent behind doors. Suddenly, Bucky was far less attracted to the mild-mannered doctor. She put up with a lot of shit from a lot of people, but she didn't do possessiveness or deliberate violence. 

Bruce perched on the bed across from Bucky and looked away. "After I got back from my time abroad, I worked in an urgent care center in New York. There was this kid..." He sighed. "I know the signs of an abused child. I reported it, but the social worker didn't take her away from the home. Then she was back in the next month, and then the next week. The system was failing her."

He fell silent, and Bucky leaned forward. "Did you kidnap somebody?" she asked quietly. 

"I'd be an awful father," Bruce said, shaking his head. "When we had to send the girl to the ER, I snapped. Beat the shit out of her father."

"Hm. I wondered why Sam would have hired a criminal to work at a youth ranch."

Bruce flinched. "I would never hurt--"

"Chill out," Bucky said. "I'm saying I get it now. You're a good guy, Bruce Banner. I'm not sure I'd have stopped until the fucker was dead."

"It still wasn't pretty," Bruce said. "If it weren't for Tony's lawyers convincing the guy not to press charges, it could have been worse. As it was, I got fired from my practice."

"But Stark's ranch needed a doctor," Bucky finished the story. "Well, doc, I can say that's not what I was expecting. There's more to you than meets the eye."

Shrugging, Bruce slid off his table. "I could say the same about you."

"Yeah, when you scratch my cocky asshole surface, you can find the defensive asshole underneath," Bucky drawled, joining Bruce on the floor. She rolled her shoulders, watching her new arm adjust with the motion. "I'm going to go make sure Steve didn't put Stark in my room. See you around, Doc."

\----

Outside the window, a rare storm was raging, rain lashing against the side of the main house. The fluorescent lights looked eerie reflected on the dark glass, and Bucky was spending far more time staring out the window than she was watching her students complete their most recent assignment (a wire and paper-mâché mask). 

In her defense, most of the students were distracted by the storm as well. All of their friends who had signed up for outside activities had the afternoon, which clearly caused some discontent. 

After hearing another heavy sigh, Bucky rolled to her feet out of the sleeping bag. "All right, you've done enough for today. Go be hooligans somewhere else," she instructed. 

The kids immediately dropped their projects and hurried out the door. 

"Sure, stick me with the cleanup," Bucky grumbled, gathering the bowls of flour-water and newspaper. 

"I can help," said a quiet voice. 

Bucky looked up to find the quiet girl, Marie, hovering by the door. Waving her away, Bucky said, "I'm just griping. Besides, your space is one of the cleanest. It's not your fault your classmates are slobs."

Ignoring her, Marie dropped her bag by the door and came back over to the table. "It's okay," she said. "I don't mind." Her accent was strongly Southern, though she rarely spoke enough for Bucky to hear it. Though it was summer, she wore a long-sleeved mesh shirt over a green tank top, and had black leather gloves tucked in the back pocket of her jeans. Blocky white highlights framed her face, completing the Goth look. 

Bucky shrugged and took the bowls to the sink. Coming back, she said, "Here, you can stack the clean newspaper. We'll just use it tomorrow."

Marie nodded, gathering the scraps. 

Bumping all of the chairs under the table, Bucky paused by Rogue's seat. "This is your mask?" she asked, reaching out but pausing before she touched it, aware of the wet paper. 

"It's not done yet," Marie said immediately. 

"It's..." Bucky trailed off. Beautiful wasn't the right word. The face was open-mouthed, screaming, while its hair blew around. Even without paint, the figure struck something deep in Bucky. The face was clearly in pain, both emotional and physical, and it sent a biting chill through Bucky to know her own face must have once looked like that. "It's really well-done."

"You don't have to say that," Marie told her brusquely. 

Bucky finally turned away from the mask, raising her eyebrows at Marie. "Do I seem like the kind of person who says anything because I have to?"

That startled a laugh out of Marie. "Guess not."

"It really is..." Bucky trailed off, glancing back at the mask. "Did you base it off something?"

Marie hesitated. "I studied Caravaggio a bit in school," she said. Bucky nodded like she knew what that meant. "I guess I kind of drew inspiration from his painting of Medusa. I mean, he painted the dying moment of the most hideous creature in Greek mythology, and he used his own face as the model."

Nodding, Bucky looked at Marie's face more closely. "And this one is you?" She let out a whistle. "I can see it, you should be at... an art school. Not in my class."

"Yeah, well, art school isn't usually funded by Stark Industries," Marie told her, collecting the brushes and dropping them in the sink. 

"That's supposed to be anonymous, I think," Bucky said. 

Marie laughed again. It was a surprisingly brash sound from the quiet girl. "It's the worst kept secret in history," Marie said. "I've been coming here for years, and Tony Stark is always lurking around."

"Stark doesn't lurk," Bucky said. "You can't lurk when you throw yourself a damn parade every time you walk in a door. How many years until you graduate?"

"Just one," Marie said. "This will be my last camp."

Bucky frowned. "Where are you going to college if not to art school?"

"Charlotte Community College," Marie said. "I'm going to transfer into UNC as soon as I get my grades up and save some money."

Bucky dropped the last of the scraps in the trashcan and then flopped back onto her beanbag, motioning for Marie to take the other. Outside, the storm was picking up, and Bucky shot a wary glance out the window as Marie sat down. 

She looked hesitant, so Bucky said, "I could use some company if you're free for a while. It's not like I can go help Natasha with the horses in this, and I'd go stir-crazy just sitting around." 

Marie settled more fully into the beanbag, rubbing the fabric idly with her fingers. "My grades would have been fine, but I missed a lot of school and transferred a few times."

Bucky hummed in acknowledgement, sinking back in the beanbag and closing her eyes. If Marie wanted to talk, she had an audience, but Bucky was never one for face-to-face emotional conversations. 

"I know a lot of kids who have to change foster homes because they're acting up or the parents are assholes," Marie said, "but I'm the only one I know who..."

"Mm?" Bucky prompted. 

"My foster parents keep dying."

That was not the response Bucky expected, and she forced herself not to open her eyes. 

"Or getting sick," Marie continued. "It's like I can't even get a chance to win them over. Not that I could have anyway, probably. God, if I were less selfish, I'd stop letting myself get put into homes."

"And live on the streets?" Bucky asked incredulously. When Marie didn't answer, Bucky rolled to face her and opened her eyes. "There's nothing selfish about wanting a family. Someone who only wants to take you in if you're perfect is doing it for the wrong reasons. And it's not your fault this shit's been happening." 

"The second I start liking it somewhere, something awful happens," Marie said. "That has to mean something."

"It means that people who are sick and old are looking for someone to keep them company," Bucky reasoned. "Look, Marie, take if from someone who has actually killed people. Nothing of whatever happened is your fault. You didn't hurt anyone. All that matters is that you survived and can move forward."

"Maybe I'm just cursed," Marie replied softly. 

"If I believed in curses, especially in the kind that punished the people around you, I never would have come back to the States. I've done enough to deserve that kind of karma that I'd never be able to walk outside. But there's no such thing. There's this world. Sometimes shit happens to you, or you do something you'll regret the rest of your life--"

"Great pep talk," Marie muttered. 

Bucky ignored her. "But sometimes great people fall into your life and decide to stick it out with you. Will they be around forever? Not possible. Is it worth it to try to latch onto them, no matter how much you don't think you deserve it, and try to do your best by them? Absolutely. Take it from someone who knows."

"You and Steve are best friends, right?" Marie confirmed. "He's so great."

"Whoa, whoa, I refuse to engage in girl talk about my best friend," Bucky said. "That would be gross and in complete violation of friendship sanct--"

There was a sudden crash, the sound loud enough to rattle Bucky's bones, and she quickly somersaulted off the beanbag, rolling up into a crouch and holding her metal hand in front of her like a weapon. She waited for the follow-up sounds of gunfire and screaming. 

"Um, Bucky? Are you okay?"

As the words filtered into Bucky's mind, so did the background noise of the pouring rain. Thunder. It had just been thunder. 

Who the fuck was she to be giving someone advice? If Marie followed in her footsteps, she'd end up a scarred war veteran with too much blood on her hands. 

Bucky pushed herself the rest of the way to her feet, forcing herself to meet Marie's eyes and grin. "Just surprised," she said. "Come on. Let's go raid the kitchens."

"You think Sam'll let us?" Marie asked, standing as well. 

Smirking, Bucky said, "I'd like to see him try to stop us."

\----

"When I said I wanted to work with the horses, this isn't what I had in mind," Bucky said, shoveling another scoop of manure into the wheelbarrow. 

Natasha laughed from the next stall over. "I thought you worked on a farm? There's a lot more to horses than riding around meadows with your hair loose."

"I know," Bucky growled. 

"Once Thor brings the horses back from the trail ride, you can help me rinse them down," Natasha said magnanimously. "For now, put that fancy arm to work."

In just a few weeks, Bucky had become accustomed to having both arms again. The metal limb was stronger than her other arm, and she had to alter her workout routine to keep the muscles in her back and shoulders balanced, since she could easily fall into letting the new arm do all the work. 

There had been a handful of glitches, but Stark, who was more present than ever around the ranch, was quick to repair and upgrade it. 

At the end of each day, Bucky polished it thoroughly, and then returned it to its socket for the night. No matter what Stark had suggested, Bucky would rather sleep with a hunk of metal than spend her most vulnerable hours without it. 

Rolling her eyes, Bucky raised her metal middle finger high, though Natasha couldn't see it, and then got back to work. The arm clicked and whirred rhythmically with the repetitive motion, and Bucky let the physical labor calm her mind. 

When she was busy, sometimes she could forget. Even then, it was always lurking underneath. 

The blood--hers and theirs. 

The screams--hers and theirs. 

"I'm glad you came here," Natasha said from behind her, making her jump and whirl around, pitchfork held like a bayonet. 

"Yeah, I'm sure you are. You needed someone to do your grunt work," Bucky said, stabbing the pitchfork into the hay at her feet. 

Natasha shook her head. She was leaning over the door of the stall, looking composed even with a strand of hay tangled in her red hair. "I meant I'm glad you came to the ranch. Steve missed you."

Bucky shrugged, her hand instinctively running over the braid tossed over her shoulder, worrying at the hair. 

For a petite woman, Natasha had an arresting stare when she wanted to. "He did. He's been so different since you got here."

Frowning, Bucky said, "He seems the same to me. What's wrong?"

"That's just it," Natasha said. "I thought he was a wreck while you were MIA, but it only got worse when you got back stateside. You were closer to him, but he still wasn't able to help you."

"I didn't need help," Bucky said through gritted teeth. 

"You weren't in enemy hands anymore, but you weren't okay."

"Steve told you that?" Bucky asked. 

With a lazy shrug, Natasha said, "I can make people talk. Like I said, he was worried about you. Apparently with good reason."

Bucky glanced behind her, checking for another exit besides the door Natasha was leaning on. There was a window to her back which could serve in a pinch, but it wouldn't be easy. Her grip tightened on her pitchfork, and she met Natasha's gaze steadily. 

"I'm only telling you this because Steve is my friend, and he's been so much happier since you got here. He laughs more, he's stopped running until he's dead on his feet, he's flirting with Stark--"

"Ew."

"There are some people in this world that come in pairs, who can't live without their other half. That's just how it is. You and Steve are like that," Natasha said. "You should see the two of you together. You mirror each other without even realizing it."

Bucky huffed out a laugh. "Everyone in the army thought we were related or dating. Or both."

"You're the world to him," Natasha agreed. "That's why you need to remember that if you do something stupid, it's not just your own life you'll be destroying."

"Excuse me?" Bucky growled. 

Natasha didn't flinch. "Do I need to speak more plainly? Do you know what I was before I came here?"

"A psychologist?"

"SVR. Russian intelligence agency. I know people who have seen terrible things, people who have had terrible things done to them. And I've seen what they do themselves after. Sometimes it's reckless driving, unsafe sex, or binge drinking. Sometimes it's a gun in their mouth. The result is the same, and everyone in the blast radius gets hurt."

Bucky's grip on the pitchfork was so tight that it was splintering under her metal hand. "You want me to leave? To get everyone out of the blast range?"

"God, you're just as much of an idiot as Steve sometimes. I want there to not be an explosion at all. Because you could throw stones at Steve and scare him away, you could move to Antarctica, and he would still feel every wound you have. That look in your eyes you get when you think no one's watching. That needs to stop."

The pitchfork in Bucky's hands snapped in half. "It's not a fucking light-switch," she snapped, throwing the pieces to the ground. 

"No, it's not," Natasha agreed. "It's a long, difficult process. But the first step is to talk about it, whatever it is that is still hurting you."

"You offering?"

"If you need me," Natasha said simply. "Anyone here would be happy to listen."

Bucky looked away, fists clenching. "No one should have to hear about this stuff."

"No one should have to experience it. But you did, and they will listen because it's what you need. You may be an asshole, but a lot of people care about you." 

There was a clattering of hooves and excited voices as the campers returned to the barn from their outing, lead by Thor. 

"Keep what I said in mind," Natasha said, backing away from the stall. "Pick up that pitchfork, and then come help me rinse everyone down. They've had a long day."

\----

"So Natasha's kind of scary," Bucky said. The kids were in the kitchen helping Sam make Friday night dinner, so Bucky and Steve had gone out to sit on the front porch steps and watch the sunset. 

In the city, Bucky never paid attention to the sun except to complain during the summer. There was always enough light in New York, enough that nothing else could shine through. 

Over in the Middle East, she always had better things to do than stargaze. 

In the mountains of Colorado, though, stars began to appear in the night sky as soon as the sun slipped under the horizon. The summer air was pleasantly warm, and Bucky was tempted to stretch out on the grass and sleep. 

"She can be intense," Steve admitted. "I'd trust her with my life, though."

Bucky leaned back with her elbows on the stair above her. "I'm glad you've found such good friends. Everyone here seems great."

"They'll never replace my best girl," Steve said, nudging Bucky with his knee. 

"I don't know," Bucky teased. "You and Stark were looking awfully cozy by the lake yesterday."

Steve shook his head. "It's not like that."

"You think I don't know what you look like when you're crushing on someone?"

"Tony's the most eligible bachelor in the world. I mean, literally. There was magazine about it."

Bucky rolled her head to glance over at him. "You better not be implying he's too good for you."

"I'm a war vet and a camp counselor," Steve said. 

"I'm still hearing you say that like those are bad things," Bucky said, sitting up to look Steve in the eyes. "Stark is a womanizer who has been in and out of rehab for years. Hell, I'd say he's the one who should be worried he's not good enough."

"He's clean now," Steve protested. "And did you know that all of his donations to this place are done completely anonymously? He's not the easiest guy to get to know. His masks have masks. But underneath, he's kind, and funny, and excited about helping people and building things."

Bucky flexed her metal arm, watching it glint under the porch lights. "You've got it bad, haven't you?"

Steve sighed heavily. "Apparently."

"Then tell him. Damn, Steve, you deserve to be happy."

"He might not even be interested in men," Steve pointed out. 

"I've seen the way he looks at you. He wants to climb you like a tree," Bucky assured him. 

Steve blushed, and elbowed her. "You're ridiculous," he said fondly. 

"You're ridiculous," she returned. "You should talk to him at the Fourth of July thing this weekend. That way if he says no, I can aim a firework at him."

"I'd laugh, but I remember you beating up Tommy Willaker in fourth grade because he rejected me."

"He was an ass, and then he outed you to the whole school. He's lucky I didn't do worse," Bucky said, still bitter. 

"You're a good friend," Steve said, giving her a dopey smile. 

She leaned back against the stairs again, staring up at the stars. "And you're a sap," she told him. "But you're my sap."

\----

The steady stroke of her hands as she brushed out Bear's flank, paired with the smell of the stables, focused her mind, letting her breathe slowly without thinking. Bear was an enormous gelding, nearly sixteen hands, and had such a long, gorgeous mane that Bucky usually had hair jealousy. It had been a dry week, though, and dust covered the horse, turning his black coat a grungy gray. 

It was dark outside, after dinner, but Bucky hadn't wanted to spend another evening in her small room. Bear enjoyed the attention, and happily ate the sugar cubes Bucky had snuck in. 

Natasha had seen her when the other woman had come by to do a final check on the horses for the night, but hadn't commented on her presence, which Bucky took as an implicit blessing. 

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

There was an urgent note in the voice that called from outside the stables, a thread of desperation that she had heard many times before. Something was wrong. 

"In here!" she called, unhooking Bear and leading him back to his stall. "I'll do your hooves later," she promised him, and he snorted at her. 

Peter and Marie entered the stables. Marie's arm was looped over Peter's shoulder, and her face was even paler than usual, contorted in pain. 

"Oh, Bucky, thank God," Peter said. 

"What's going on?" Bucky asked, dropping the brush she had been grasping as a weapon and rushing over. "Marie, are you okay?"

"I think she broke her ankle," Peter said. 

"Whatever it is, it hurts," Marie said through gritted teeth. "Even when I'm not putting weight on it," she added, grimly stepping forward and wincing, even with Peter's help. 

Bucky nodded decisively. "We're going to see Bruce," she said. "Peter, run ahead, make sure he's in the clinic when we get there."

Peter helped Bucky take over supporting Marie, and then hovered nearby. "Are you sure I can't--"

"Go," Bucky snapped, leaving no room for argument. Peter left the stables at a run, his lanky limbs and excess energy coming together surprisingly smoothly. 

Adjusting her arm so she was more fully taking Marie's weight, Bucky said, "Come on."

They made it five feet away from the stable door, with both walking unsteadily and Marie wincing with every step before Bucky drew to a halt. "This isn't going to work," Bucky announced. "I'll just carry you."

Marie squeaked when Bucky picked her up bridal-style and flailed slightly before putting her arms around Bucky's neck. "You can't carry me all the way to the clinic! It's almost all uphill!"

Rolling her eyes, Bucky started forward. She kept her steps slow, not wanting to end up with her own broken ankle in the dark grass. "There's no way it hasn't tricked down to you guys that I'm a vet. You think I can't carry you up one measly hill?"

"This is embarrassing," Marie huffed, but she relaxed slightly. 

"At least no one's out here," Bucky pointed out. "Speaking of, why were _you_ out here? Especially without a flashlight!"

"We were using Peter's flashlight app, but his phone ran out of batteries," Marie said. 

"So are you two..."

Marie shook her head. "We're just friends. He just wanted to show me something."

Bucky sighed. Was she really going to have to have this talk? "Sometimes when a cute boy says he wants to show you something out in a secluded field, it's just a move to--"

"He showed me the lake! The stars are really pretty reflecting off it, especially on dark nights like these. And if he did want to do something, I could handle it. God, Bucky, I'm sixteen, not six. I do not need the sex talk."

"Thank God," Bucky said. 

"He is cute though, isn't he?" Marie said. 

"Oh, look, we're at the clinic," Bucky said loudly. The only thing worse than having the sex talk was girl talk. 

The lights were on inside, so Bucky bumped the door open with her hip without knocking. Peter and Bruce were standing by one of the beds, so Bucky set Marie down on top of the sheets, careful not to jostle her ankle as she did so. 

"I'm glad Peter found you," Bucky said, turning to Bruce. "We've got to be miles from the nearest hospital." The doctor looked even more disheveled than usual. His curly gray hair was sticking up in odd places and flopping over his bleary eyes, and the buttons on his shirt were done up unevenly. "Did we wake you up? It's only eleven."

"Unlike some people, I actually need eight hours of sleep a night," Bruce grumbled, looking at Bucky pointedly. 

"Sorry," Marie said softly. 

Bruce shook his head, turning his attention back to his patient. "I'm glad you came and got me. It's what I'm here for. Now, let me see your ankle. Peter said you twisted it?"

Marie nodded, clenching her fists in her sheets as Bruce gently rolled up the cuff of her jeans on her right leg. Her ankle was marred with purple and looked swollen over her black sandals. "I stepped in a hole or something. Don't touch it!"

"I won't hurt you," Bruce told her.

As his fingers danced over her ankle, Peter put his hand over Marie's, and she quickly grasped it instead of the sheet. Bucky refrained from making a comment in light of the fact Marie might have had a broken ankle, but it was difficult. Now that she saw them together, she decided they would make a cute couple. Marie was quiet by nature, but Peter never let something like that stop him from making friends.

"How are you holding up?" Bucky asked, hovering beside Bruce with her arms crossed. 

Marie gave her a shaky grin. "Never better."

"That's the spirit," Bucky said. Looking back at Bruce, she asked, "What do you think, doc?" 

Bruce hummed under his breath. "I think it's just sprained, but we'll need to do an x-ray tomorrow. There's no visible break, so if anything, it's probably no more than a hairline fracture. For tonight, I'll give you a brace and some pain medicine. Keep it elevated tonight and take it easy the next few days."

"Does this mean I can't go on the big trail ride next week?" Marie asked, shoulders slumped.

"Sorry, dude, you're doomed," Peter said, and Marie smacked him. 

"He's right," Bruce said solemnly. "Even if you live to Monday, there's no way you can ride."

Marie's mouth dropped open. "Seriously?"

Bucky snorted, and Bruce let a smile tick up the corner of his mouth. "In all likelihood, if the x-ray comes back clean, you'll get to ride. Natasha will get to give final approval for whether she'll let you on one of her horses, though. If you got more hurt out on the trail, she'd be liable."

"You, doc, are such an asshole," Bucky drawled.

Bruce chuckled. "It's midnight. I'm allowed."

"Only because you have the bedtime of an eighty year-old," Bucky taunted in a singsong voice. 

"Have you considered that maybe you just have the schedule of an eighteen year-old?" Bruce returned, rolling back down Marie's jeans. "Put ice on it from the fridge. Use two zip-lock bags, and only put it on for fifteen minutes at a time," he instructed. 

Bucky huffed. "Old man."

"Kids these days," Bruce replied, shaking his head solemnly, but his dark eyes were bright with mischief. 

"Can we go?" Marie asked. 

"Uh, yeah, sure," Bucky said, pulling her gaze away from Bruce. "Come on, princess, let me carry you to your chambers. You got a flashlight I can borrow, Bruce?"

Nodding, Bruce collected one from a cabinet that looked full of emergency supplies. "Peter, you go on to the main house and get some sleep. I'll walk with you guys so you don't have to hold the flashlight in your mouth or something."

Bucky, who had in fact been planning on holding the flashlight between her teeth, shrugged. "If you're that worried."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Marie," Peter said, hesitating by the door before leaving. 

"Bye, Peter," she said. "Thanks for everything tonight."

"Next time we go out, I promise there won't be any injuries. None," Peter said. 

Bucky laughed, hoisting Marie into her arms. "Don't make promises you can't keep, kid."

"Those are the best kind," Peter said with a wink before slipping out of the door. 

"Have you got the pain meds?" Bucky asked Bruce, who reappeared with a bag in his hand. 

"Yeah." He handed her a pair of white pills and a small cup of water. "Take these now, and then follow the instructions on the bottle. If it makes you too woozy, take two Advil and stay off your feet," he said. Once Marie had taken the medicine and Bruce had thrown away the cup, he clicked on the flashlight. "Let's go."

Walking with Marie in her arms with the flashlight guiding her path made things move exponentially more quickly. Where a flashlight between her teeth would have only jerkily lit the ground, bouncing with every step, Bruce kept the patch of light a few feet in front of her so she could see over Marie's form. 

Natasha was waiting inside the girls' cabin, looking angry when she opened the door and angrier when she saw Marie. She kept her voice down since the rest of the cabin was dark behind her, but that didn't lessen the effect. "What did you do?"

"Sprained ankle," Bruce explained. 

"She was out with Peter," Bucky added.

"Hey," Marie complained, looking at Natasha nervously. 

Natasha rolled her eyes. "This isn't a prison. If you're going out late, just tell me. And don't have sex. The woods are gross and the stables are mine."

Marie turned bright enough red that it could be seen even in the dim reflection of the flashlight's glow. 

"Put her down," Natasha said. "I can help her to her bunk. Anything I need to know?" she continued, turning to Bruce.

As the other two went over Marie's care instructions, Bucky carefully set her down at the top of the cabin steps. "Hold the railing," she instructed. 

Marie did so, keeping her weight off her foot completely. "I can't believe it's only sprained. You must think I'm such a wimp."

"Why, because I got my arm literally blown off during a war?" Bucky asked, raising her eyebrows. 

"Um..."

"Look, punk, pain is pain. Just because it could be worse doesn't mean you're not feeling it," Bucky said. "Go get some rest."

"Are you going back to the main cabin with Bruce?"

"Yeah, 'cause that's where we sleep."

Marie hummed noncommittally. Bucky squinted in the darkness to try to make out her expression. "There's nothing going on between me and Bruce."

"I'm a teenager. I know flirting when I see it," Marie replied. 

Shaking her head, Bucky said, "Like I said, I got my arm blown off in a war. I'm not really girlfriend material."

"That's not what it looked like Bruce thought. Maybe I should be giving you the sex talk," Marie muttered. 

"I'm going to assume that that's your pain meds talking," Bucky replied firmly. Natasha came up the stairs, and Bucky said, "She's all yours."

As Bucky and Bruce walked back to the main cabin, she found herself glancing over at him, even though she could barely see his face in the dark. 

Not that she'd ever admit it to the kid, but Bucky did think Bruce was gorgeous. And smart. And funny. But that didn't mean they had been flirting. 

Since she'd been back from Afghanistan, Bucky hadn't had more than a quick fuck or two in the back room of one of New York's seedier clubs. She had never even taken her clothes off. So even if she was interested in Bruce, she had enough self-preservation instincts not to take it too seriously. 

She did _not_ have a crush on Bruce Banner. 

"They were lucky they ran into you," Bruce commented as they walked. 

Bucky shrugged. "They'd already made it from the lake. They could have handled it."

"Peter was so worried when he found me that he could barely speak," Bruce said. "Having you keep your head made the whole thing better for them."

Bucky chuckled. "I'm not going to lose my cool over a broken ankle."

"I know," Bruce smiled over at her, a gleam of white teeth in the darkness. "This place is full of badasses, and you're still the toughest person here."

"Thanks," Bucky said, genuinely flattered. Hesitating, she added, "You kept your head too. I know good bedside manner can be tough sometimes. Especially when you're _so_ tired."

Bruce laughed again, and Bucky realized she wanted to hear the noise over and over. 

Okay, so maybe she had a crush on Bruce Banner. 

\----

The sun bathed the mountains in such a warm, alluring light that Bucky went outside immediately after she had dismissed the crafts class. Marie was met at the door by Peter, who offered to carry her backpack. 

Luckily, the x-ray had come back to show that Marie's ankle wasn't broken or fractured, so she only had to wear a brace around camp. Peter shadowed her like a lost puppy, and Bucky couldn't help but grin knowingly every time she caught one of their gazes. 

The other classes were just finishing up as well. After the afternoon session, the kids had a two-hour break before dinner, during which Bucky didn't have to supervise them. She passed the equestrian kids leading their horses back to the stables and gave Thor a wave. 

The kids at the archery range were putting away all their equipment as Bucky strolled past, and she paused to look at the targets at the end of the range. 

The jangle of Lucky's collar warned Bucky of Clint's approach before he greeted her. "They're doing pretty good," he commented, joining her in looking at the targets. 

Bucky gestured to the one with the tightest clusters of holes. "Is that one yours?"

"No, I don't usually shoot during class. That one is Kate's-- Kate Bishop. She'll be heading to the Olympics in a few years, I guarantee it."

"You know it!" called a girl with a strong Jersey accent as she passed them with some friends on her way to the main cabin. 

"She's also super humble!" Clint shouted after her. 

Bucky laughed. "You seem to get along with the kids well."

"Kate's Kate," Clint said with a shrug. "She's been coming to camp since I started here."

"Well, you've clearly taught her well," Bucky said. "I don't even know if I could have shot a gun that well at her age."

"You should try using a bow now that you've got both arms," Clint said. "I'm a good teacher."

"Yeah, I'm sure you get lots of praise on your sensitivity," Bucky drawled. 

"I'm serious," Clint said. "Want to try? We've got all the equipment set up."

"What, now?" 

Shrugging, Clint said, "Might as well."

Narrowing her eyes at his guileless expression, she asked, "What do you want?"

"I just want to see how the arm works," he admitted. 

Bucky rolled her eyes. "I'm not a fucking circus act.”

Clint chuckled. “Believe me, I know.” 

Raising her eyebrows, Bucky said, “Good. Then don’t treat me like one.”

Turning his head, he pointed to the hearing aid in his ear. “Look, you don’t think I know what it’s like to be different? I just want to know if Stark’s as good as he claims.” Shaking his head, Clint admitted, “He offered to make me some new ones.”

“Ears?”

“Ha ha,” Clint said dryly. 

“Making an arm and making hearing aids has to be different. For one, he probably couldn’t have made my missing arm _worse_.” 

Clint looked away. “You know what, forget I asked,” he said. “The archery lesson is still on the table if you want it.”

“Don’t ever tell him I said this,” Bucky said, drawing the archer’s attention again, “but Stark’s a genius. He’s a maniac, but he’s not going to fuck you over.”

“You think I should let him do it?”

With a shrug, Bucky said, “Make sure Bruce is around to make sure he doesn’t go too nuts, but yeah. The man’s good at what he does.”

“Can I…?”

Bucky held out her arm, flexing her fingers and then curling them into a fist. Clint’s eyes tracked the ripple of metal that danced across the surface. 

“Here,” she said, “hand me that bow. Let’s see what this sucker can do.”

\----

Sunday morning dawned warm and bright, though the valley air was crisp in Bucky's lungs. Her footsteps could be traced from the main house to the stables from the dew her footsteps knocked off the grass. Since it was close to seven in the morning, all of the campers were taking advantage of their free day to sleep in, so Bucky had shucked her t-shirt in favor of wearing a black sports bra and a pair of worn jeans.

Entering the stables, breathing in the smell of horse musk and hay, Bucky approached her favorite horse, a solid black gelding that was gentler than his size and name suggested. "Hey, Bear," she greeted, holding out her palm flat to offer him a sugar cube she had stolen from the kitchen. 

He took it delicately from her hand, his velvety lips brushing her skin. Grinning, Bucky ran a hand up to his mane, running it between her fingers. "How are you this morning?"

The horse huffed loudly, warm air blowing in her face. 

After Bucky had served her time shoveling the stalls, Natasha gave her permission--and with Natasha's horses, you needed express permission-- to take the horses out for a ride. Busy with camp, Bucky hadn't had a chance to take her up on the offer for more than a quick trot around the pasture until this morning. 

When Bear nudged her, Bucky laughed. "Sorry, hon. No more sugar cubes."

"I've got some."

Bucky jumped and whirled around, arms coming up defensively. When she saw Bruce, she dropped her fists and growled, "Like half the people who work here are vets, and you walk like a fucking panther. Someone needs to put a bell on you."

"Sorry," Bruce said mildly, though he didn't look very apologetic. "I'll ask Tony to whip up a collar for me."

Bucky raised her eyebrows, and Bruce flushed. Shaking her head, Bucky said, "You following me?"

"You're not the only person who likes horses," Bruce said, approaching Bear and scratching his forelock. "I'm usually the only one here this early." His eyes dropped to her left shoulder briefly, making Bucky tense. 

Though the metal arm had stopped irritation she had been dealing with, there was still a web of scars on Bucky's torso from the IED and subsequent months as a POW. She didn't have a shirt with her, though, and she wasn't about to go back to the cabin and get one. She lifted her chin defiantly, and Bruce just smiled sheepishly back at her, eyes leaving her torso without comment. If anything, he seemed more embarrassed about having checked out her--admittedly impressive--rack than of staring at her scars. 

"Do you take Bear out?" Bucky asked, making Bruce meet her eyes. 

"No, I usually ride Gamma," Bruce said, gesturing to the palomino in the stall beside Bear's. 

Walking over, Bucky looked at the tall mare. She'd seen her in the pasture, but hadn't ever needed to hose her down. "I don't think I've seen any of the kids take her out," Bucky commented. 

"That's because she bites anyone who irritates her." Bucky quickly withdrew the hand she had been moving forward. "Natasha only lets experienced riders take her out."

Bucky returned to Bear and rubbed his nose while she watched Bruce offer the mare a sugar cube. "Let me guess. Sam keeps her around because of his affinity for violent, unbalanced things."

Bruce slipped a bridle over Gamma's head and then opened he stall. The horse's hooves clicked on the concrete as Bruce led her to the tack area in the center of the stables. "Natasha picks all the horses," he told her. "I guess she saw something more in Gamma than her teeth."

Bucky collected a bridle and saddle for Bear and hooked him up to be tacked, making sure his hindquarters were far away from Gamma's reach. The process of layering the saddle and cinching the girth had come back to Bucky quickly while helping Natasha, though she had only done it a few other times. 

"Have you ridden a lot?" Bruce asked her. 

Bucky shrugged, checking the bit in Bear's mouth. "A bit." At the farm she had worked at in college, she had snuck in some bareback riding when she was alone. She'd watched carefully though, listening to Natasha's instructions to the camp kids, and thought she understood the basics. "What about you?"

"I rode some over in India," Bruce told her. 

"What, no elephants available?"

Bruce chuckled. "Not to disappoint you, but not everyone in India rides elephants."

"Let me guess. Orphans don't usually get adopted wolf packs either, do they?"

"Does your entire knowledge of India come from The Jungle Book?" Bruce asked, unhooking Gamma and then swinging himself onto her back. 

Doing the same with Bear, Bucky grinned over her shoulder at Bruce. "And Slumdog Millionaire," she said, patting Bear's neck to keep him steady. "Are you going to take one of the trails?"

"I was thinking about it. There's a nice loop that goes around the lake."

"Want some company?"

Bruce smiled. "Of course."

The path by the lake was covered by branches stretching high overhead, so the morning sunlight was dappled as it fell on the dirt trail. Bear walked behind Gamma, since Bucky didn't want to risk him getting bitten, so Bucky got the chance to look at Bruce's curly gray hair in addition to the other scenery. 

He rode with a casual efficiency, seeming like an extension of the horse. Considering how fidgety he got sometimes, Bucky was surprised by how natural he looked. 

She, on the other hand, was discovering that riding an hour on a trail was different than trotting around the pasture. Though she kept in shape, riding Bear worked muscles that she rarely used. The long strides of the animal under her were disconcerting at first, but she eventually found her rhythm. Bear was content to follow Gamma, and Bucky was content to enjoy the breeze and Banner's surprisingly toned back. 

There was a rustle in the pine needles beside the trail, and then Bear reared back suddenly, the sharp movement nearly knocking Bucky from the saddle. Only her inexorable grasp on the reins with her metal hand and the grip of her thighs on the saddle kept her from being thrown. 

"Whoa," she exclaimed, wrapping her other hand in Bear's mane as he jolted backward again. 

Bruce turned in his saddle. "Hold on!" he said, hopping down, taking Gamma by her reins and then approaching Bear. 

"What. The. Fuck?" Bucky asked, jerking on the reins and holding on as right as she could. 

Moving slowly but with steady determination, Bruce dodged Bear's front hooves and grabbed the side of the reins, shushing him. 

Bear stopped trying to buck her off, but he was dancing in place, still clearly alarmed. Gamma, who was still standing beside Bruce, looked alarmed as well, eyes darting so that Bucky could see their whites. 

"There was a snake," Bruce said. "I saw it slithering away once Bear spooked."

Bucky put her hand on Bear's neck in what was supposed to be a smack, but turned into more of a pat. "Oh my god, you're a _horse_. You could squish a snake without even noticing," she said. 

Still stoking Bear's face calmingly, Bruce said, "I've seen horses spook at plastic bags. At least this was a more realistic threat."

Breath steadying, Bucky shook her head. "Well, that was better than a shot of espresso," she said. The adrenaline pulsing through her chased away the lazy haze of the early morning. 

"I think he's okay now," Bruce said, stepping back. "You did well. Most people have trouble keeping their seat, much less their calm."

"Um, thanks," Bucky said. "I'm not exactly a shrinking violet, you know."

"Still," Bruce said. His smile melted Bucky's heart a bit, and as he turned to mount Gamma again, Bucky grimaced. She had only gotten these warm fuzzies a few times, but it was enough for her to recognize the blossoming of a serious crush. 

Thinking he was cute and sweet had been bad enough. This was just what she needed—to start swooning over the only guy in the state who had been up close and personal with her mangled shoulder. 

\----

Raised voices drew Bucky to the kitchen. The campers were all out for the day, with Natasha and Thor on an extended trail ride to celebrate the final week at Falcon. The only people who should have been in the house were the staff, and Bucky had never heard them sound genuinely angry at each other. 

None of them could hurt her, but her metal hand was still curled in a fist as she peeked around the corner. Steve and Tony were sitting at the kitchen table, looking up at Sam and Peter, who were by the stove.

"Why are you guys getting so mad?" Peter demanded. "It's none of your business!"

Keeping her posture relaxed, Bucky strolled into the kitchen. "Problem, boys?" she asked. Steve would never hurt anyone, especially not a minor, but Bucky wasn't big on trusting anyone these days. She settled beside Peter, close enough that she could stop anyone from reaching him, crossing her arms so a glint of metal was on display. 

"Peter here has decided not to go to college," Sam said, shoulders tense as he turned off the stove with a deft flick and turned to her. 

"Okay," Bucky said, waiting. 

"Not okay," Sam corrected. "Do you know the unemployment rates for people without a college education?"

"I'm sure you're about to tell me," Peter snapped. 

"30 percent. But for college grads? Only like 2. You're a smart kid-- you need to do this," Sam said. 

"I thought you were excited about NYU," Steve said from the table. He had his disappointed face on, which Bucky knew from personal experience was humiliating. 

"You've made up your mind, then?" Bucky asked Peter, who nodded shortly. 

"You knew about this?" Sam asked. 

Raising her eyebrow, Bucky said, "No need to sound so accusatory."

Sam turned to Peter, and there was hurt under his anger. "You told Bucky? How long have you been planning this?" 

"Why do you care so fucking much?" Peter demanded, running an angry hand through his hair. Clearly not satisfied, he grabbed a fork and threw it across the room, where it hit the wall and landed on the floor with a clatter. 

It took everything in Bucky's power not to pin him to the counter and subdue the threat. Her metal arm rippled with her adrenaline, and her gaze zeroed in on the teen, calculating how she could incapacitate him. 

"Bucky," Steve said softly, breaking her focus. She forced her eyes over to him. He had stood up, and Tony had quickly followed, but they stayed by the table. 

"We care because we care about what happens to you," Sam said. 

"But I'm _leaving_ ," Peter said, voice breaking slightly. "Why should you care what happens after?"

"You're leaving the house, not our lives," Steve said softly. 

"We're your family," Sam agreed. "You can't get rid of us that easily."

"But we're _not_ family," Peter said, voice desperate. "You all don't owe me anything. I'm just a ward."

"Don't be ridiculous," Sam said. "You've been here for five years. The only reason we haven't had adoption papers drawn up is because no one could agree who should get to have you."

"I..." The fight was draining out of Peter. "Really?"

Steve nodded. "I asked after my first six months here," he said. "Sam told me to get in line."

"I thought you knew," Sam said. "We're all a family here. Not by blood or paper, but by choice. That's the strongest kind."

"If you really don't want to go to college, you don't have to," Steve added. He shook his head when Sam began to protest. "It's your choice. But don't make that choice because you think going out there means you can't stay here."

"I, for one, hope you don't change your mind about NYU," Tony added, looking up from his omnipresent tablet. "I already put the deposit down."

"You... What?" Peter asked, blinking. 

"I mean, I'll make that much in the stock market by next week, so I'll survive if you don't, but I was kind of hoping for someone to come by the Tower and help me do science. You know Pepper always tries to stop me."

"You paid for his deposit?" Steve asked, turning to Tony. Clearly this was news to everyone. 

"And the rest of the tuition, though that's refundable if he bails," Tony said. "Kid, I've known you as long as these guys have, even if I haven't always been around. You're smart and talented, and NYU would be lucky to have you. Or any other school. If you'd rather go to MIT, we can probably put down the deposit late if I donate a library or something."

"No, no, I want to go to NYU," Peter said quickly. 

Sam shook his head. "You're going to give me gray hairs, Parker." He paused, and then added, "If you ever want to go by Wilson instead, let me know. I'd be honored to have you join my clan."

"I think Peter Rogers has a better ring to it," Steve said. 

"It sounds like Peter Rabbit," Tony protested. "Besides, SI needs a Stark heir, and being hella gay for this beefcake here means that I probably won't be having any progeny soon." 

"I..." Peter looked around, tears in his eyes. 

"Think about it," Steve said, still blushing from the 'beefcake' comment. "No pressure."

"A little bit of pressure," Tony corrected. "I have a private jet."

"Dammit, Stark, you can't bribe him," Sam protested. 

Peter cleared his throat. "So that means I can come back here next summer?"

"I'd be offended if you didn't," Sam agreed. "Come on, let's finish dinner."

He turned back on the stove, a teary-eyed Peter close by his side. 

Bucky walked over to the table and plopped into one of the chairs, finally letting her shoulders relax. "Remember when I tried to adopt you?" she commented to Steve. 

Tony raised his eyebrows, and Steve explained, "Orphans. It turns out that two sixteen year-olds can't legally adopt each other."

Bucky nodded, and then said, "That's a good thing you did, Stark. Paying his tuition. Were you ever going to tell him?"

"Meh, I was going to say it was from the Maria Stark Foundation," Tony said. "No reason to make the kid feel indebted. I just wanted him to know now that he's got people looking out for him."

"You're a good man," Steve said, looking at Tony with warm eyes and an inviting smile. 

"That's my cue to leave," Bucky declared, standing up. "Try to keep it PG in the kitchen. Maybe PG-13, but only after I leave."

"I'll try," Tony replied. The smirk on his face when he looked at Steve, however, said otherwise. 

Bucky rolled her eyes and left before she could see anything scarring. 

\----

The camp was due to end on Wednesday, so the atmosphere at the Fourth of July cookout on Sunday was both a celebration and a goodbye. 

For most of the kids, the prospect of going back home after having a month of steady room and board, kind adult supervision, and wide-open spaces was daunting. Like Marie, many of the kids had no one worth going home to. 

"How do you let them leave at the end?" Bucky asked Sam quietly, looking over the group. They were holding the cookout by the lake in the late afternoon, and kids were alternating between playing the games that had been set up and splashing around in the cool water. 

Sam paused from where he was stacking the charcoal in the grill. He chuckled softly. "It's hard," he admitted. "I just hope they stay in touch and know that they always have a place here if they need it."

Bucky looked over to where Steve and Stark were supervising the kids in the lake, which seemed to involve Steve vigilantly life-guarding while Stark bounced around him like an overexcited puppy. Meanwhile, Clint's dog Lucky was looking far more composed where he sat sleeping beside Clint and Natasha. With Clint's new hearing aids, the dog wasn't needed anymore, but it was taking to retirement easily. "Stark would probably give you all enough money to take them all in."

"We can't take them away from their parents without a good reason, and even then it's hard. We just do what we can here. Luckily," he said, tone lightening and growing louder as Peter approached the grill, "we get to keep a few of them as our dish-washing slaves."

"And that is why we're using paper plates," Peter said, brandishing the stack he had brought over. "Who's manning the grill? Sam?"

Sam shook his head. "I've got some work to finish once I set this up. Bucky, do you know how to grill?"

Bucky gave him an unimpressed look. "Can I grill? I can make the best damn steak in the Northeast."

"No steaks today-- just hot dogs and hamburgers. And tofu dogs, but we're leaving that to Bruce on the boring half of the grill," Sam said. 

Grabbing one of the tools sticking from the grill’s holder, Bucky held it up. “C’mon, Wilson, what’s the point of even having a carving fork if you’re not going to make steak? What am I supposed to do, stab the ground beef?”

Sam took the carving fork delicately from her hand and replaced it. “We sometimes make steak. Just not for twenty people,” he said, laughing. 

“That means we’re getting steak when they all leave, right?” Peter asked, grinning. “Because that’s what I heard.”

“Come on, punk. You can help me get the rest of the party stuff ready back at the main house,” Sam said, slinging a hand over Peter’s shoulders. 

\----

Bucky was shaping the hamburger meat into patties when Bruce arrived carrying a carton of portabella mushrooms and a pack of tofu dogs. "Hi, Bucky," he greeted, setting the food on the prep table. "Are you regretting not getting Tony to give you a spatula option for your hand?"

"Maybe if I were looking to become a fry cook," Bucky said. "Luckily, this arm also doubles as a bottle-opener."

She pulled a pair of beer bottles from the cooler by her feet-- tucked under the table so errant kids couldn't find them-- and popped the lids off with her metal hand. Handing Bruce one, she said, "The grill's just getting heated. This is your half-- I promise not to put any meat on it. Sam said you're a vegetarian?"

Bruce nodded. 

Bucky looked at the raw meat in her hands that she was still shaping and then back up at him. "Why?"

"You really want to know?"

"Look, nothing you say is going to change my mind one way or another. Just don't poison my meat, okay?"

"I'll try not to," Bruce said, unwrapping the portabellas. "There are the humanitarian reasons, of course. The amount of crops we waste feeding cattle could be used to provide food to people in need, or as land for human use."

"Humans have always eaten meat, though," Bucky pointed out. "It's just part of life."

"When I was abroad, I saw people who had a closer relationship with the animals they ate, instead of the inhumane production line style we have here. There's enough pain in the world without me supporting it."

Bucky shrugged. "I guess you've got to do what you've got to do," she said, slapping a hamburger patty onto the grill. 

Snorting, Bruce said, "Thanks for the support."

"It's a good thing you're cute," Bucky mused. "Otherwise this might have been a deal breaker."

Bruce choked, apparently on air, and finally spluttered, "Um, thanks."

Grinning to herself, Bucky added on another patty to the grill. 

Once the kids realized that the food was almost ready, they started milling around the grill, waiting to be served. Thor and Natasha plated everything, including a bag of chips and a cookie with each grilled item. Only two kids took from Bruce’s half, making Bucky give him a teasing smirk, and they all clamored for leftovers. 

Bruce had a methodical way of cooking. Once the tofu dog or mushroom was on the grill, he sat back and waited exactly five minutes to flip it. Meanwhile, Bucky impatiently flipped her burgers over and over, waiting for them to brown. 

“Tony and Steve seem to be getting along,” Bruce commented after the pair swung by for some food. Steve had taken three hot dogs, and had strong-armed Tony into getting both a hot dog and a burger. Steve had always been a bit of a mother hen when it came to people he cared about, and Tony’s reluctant cooperation was always paired with a fond smile. 

Bucky nodded, watching them sit down on the grass with some of the kids. Though she knew Tony had to be good with kids to want to support a camp like Falcon, she was still surprised by how much the kids loved him. He was blunt and funny, making them roll around with laughter, and even the shyest kids came out of their shells around him. 

“I think it’s good for Tony,” Bruce added, “to have someone like Steve.”

"It'd be good for everyone to have someone like Steve," Bucky said. 

Bruce paused. "I'm sorry, are you two...?"

"Dating?" Bucky confirmed, and then snorted. "Yeah, no. He's hot and bi, but he's like a brother. We've known each other since elementary school. You know, he wasn't always such a beefcake. He used to be the shrimpiest kid in Brooklyn."

Bruce looked over at Steve, who towered over Tony even when sitting. "It's hard to believe."

"He had the mother of all growth spurts at puberty, and finally grew large enough to back up his big mouth. Before then, the fights he used to pick ended either with him getting the snot kicked out of him, or me jumping in and saving his skinny ass."

“I can imagine that,” Bruce said. “You probably could have kicked my ass when I was a kid. Actually, you could probably kick my ass now.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Bucky decided, looking back at the grill.

“It was.”

Unable to suppress a pleased smile, she turned back to the doctor, but a sudden explosion sounded and her rational mind shut down. 

A blast. Fire. A burning, horrifying pain in her arm that was too much for her adrenaline to overshadow. The sound of Private Hogan’s last, choked breath. The sound of the enemy approaching. 

Trying to crawl away. 

“Bucky!"

Looking down and realizes that half her arm was missing. 

“Bucky, it’s okay. We’re okay."

It wasn’t okay. How could it ever be okay? They were coming to take her away.

"Sergeant Barnes! Stand down!"

Bucky flinched, tightening her grip on her weapon. She blinked, looking around. There was grass under her knees, not sand, and there were no more explosions. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think, I am so sorry,” someone was babbling, but it wasn’t the choking sound coming from blood-filled lungs that Bucky was expecting. 

“Bucky.” Steve’s face came into view. He was pale and the skin around his eyes was tight, but his hands were up calmingly and his voice was steady. “You’re okay. Put down the fork.”

Bucky looked down at her hand and saw that she was brandishing the long carving fork, its sharp prongs glinting dangerously in the sunset. Her other hand was clutched tight around the fabric of Bruce’s shirt, and she was crouching over him on the ground. 

Behind Steve, the students looked on, terrified. 

Bucky dropped the fork and scrambled backward, off of Bruce. Her hands were shaking as she pushed herself to her feet. 

Natasha appeared, helping Bruce stand, but the doctor had his eyes locked on Bucky. “Are you okay?”

“Am _I_ okay?” Bucky repeated, laughing incredulously. “Who cares. Did I hurt you?"

“I’m fine."

"Everyone go back to what you were doing," Steve instructed. "Bruce, make sure nothing on the grill burns. Peter, put away the fireworks. Natasha--"

"I'll watch the kids," the woman confirmed. 

"Bucky," Steve continued, approaching her. He hesitated halfway through reaching for her, and then clenched his jaw and put his arm around her shoulders. "Come on. Let's go inside."

Glancing around at the kids, who were only starting to disperse now that Natasha was in their midst, and darting her gaze over to Bruce, who was still watching her, Bucky nodded. "Fine." 

\----

They went to Bucky's room. It was in the corner of the house, which meant more privacy, but Bucky knew it was so she wouldn't have anywhere else to run off to. 

She shrugged off Steve's arm once they were inside and started pacing. "What the hell happened?"

"Peter set off an early firework," Steve explained. "It surprised me too, and when I looked over at it, I saw you tackling Bruce to the ground."

Bucky clenched and unclenched her fists quickly. "You think he's okay?"

"Surprised," Steve admitted. "But you were trying to protect him, not hurt him."

"I don't even remember..." Bucky shook her head and kept pacing. 

"You were having a flashback," Steve said. "The firework set you off. It's not your fault."

"I don't see you tackling people," Bucky snapped. 

"Bucky, you've been through some real trauma. No one here is going to blame you for that."

"This was a dumb idea," Bucky said. "This whole thing was a dumb idea. I'm not cut out for this. I'm not cut out for anything!"

Steve crossed his arms. "You weren't doing any better back home. You've been back stateside for nearly six months, and you spent every minute since you got out of the VA hospital sitting in a bar. I wasn't going to let you end up on the streets, or worse."

"At least there I wouldn't hurt anyone. You know I can scrape by," Bucky said. 

"Yeah, but would you have?" he challenged.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bucky asked, glaring at him.

Steve's jaw clenched in that same familiar way he had when his big mouth was about to get him in trouble. "Maybe you don't even remember, but you called me when you were drunk. You said..."

Bucky was tense, ready to lash out or run. "What?"

"You said you didn't deserve to be alive," Steve said, and he looked like his heart was breaking. "You said you didn't want to be alive. How was I supposed to leave you up in New York alone after that?"

"You can't listen to me when I'm drunk, you know that."

"Oh yeah? Because I think that drunk you is just about the most honest version of you there is." Steve shook his head. "When you were declared MIA, when I didn't know where you were or if you were alive, it destroyed me. If Sam hadn't been here, I don't know if I could have survived it. You don't get to take yourself out of this game."

Bucky lifted her prosthetic arm, letting the silver metal glint in the cabin's light. "Look at me, Steve. I murdered people over there, and I came back useless. I can’t even get through a fucking holiday without nearly killing everyone. You want me to keep doing this, what, just for your sake?"

"Yes," Steve said simply.

Bucky's breath caught, and the fight went out of her. "Why?"

"Because you're all I've got," he said. "I don't care if I have to stay with you every second, day and night. I'll do whatever it takes to make sure you're still around to get me into trouble in our nursing home."

"Please," Bucky said with a watery laugh, "you're definitely the trouble-maker here." 

She tentatively took a step toward him, and Steve launched himself forward, pulling her into a tight hug. Though he was built like a blonde brick shithouse, hugs from Steve were always the perfect combination of gentle and grounding. Even when he was a wimpy kid, he had always been the only solid thing in her life.

They stayed there for a long while, just breathing together, and then Bucky stepped back. “Thanks. I hope tonight didn’t ruin your chances with Stark.”

“Tony will understand better than you might think,” Steve told her. “And from Bruce’s face, I don’t think your chances there are shot either.”

"I don't know what you're talking about, Rogers."

"Sure you don't, Barnes." 

\----

"Hey, Bucky, can I have a word? In my office?" Sam asked after breakfast while Bucky was helping stack the dirty dishes. She has planned on skipping the meal altogether to avoid everyone, but Steve had dragged her along. 

"Um, sure thing, boss," Bucky said. She took the dishes to the sink, and then followed Sam to his office. 

Steve had left immediately after breakfast, which was probably why Sam waited until then to talk to her. 

Knowing him, he'd force his way into their meeting and try to stop Sam from firing her. 

When they got to his office, just a few doors down from the kitchen, Bucky stood behind the visitor's chair with tense shoulders while Sam shut the door behind them. 

The camp director went over to his side of the desk, and then perched sideways on the edge of it, so he could still look Bucky in the eye from across its length. 

Bucky realized that her posture had fallen instinctively into parade rest, and quickly crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one foot. "You wanted to talk?" she prompted. 

"Look, Bucky, you know I'm glad you're here. You're good to the kids, and you're good to Steve. But you're clearly not okay."

Bucky jutted her jaw upward. "Cut to the chase, why don't you," she said. "Thanks for the diagnosis."

"I'm not done," Sam said. "This isn't working."

Even though she saw it coming, it still hit her like a physical blow. Steve had obviously been wrong-- she was too broken even for Stark's Island of Misfit Toys. 

"You've got to realize you can't keep going like this," Sam continued. 

"I know," Bucky said, voice less composed than she had hoped for. 

Sam looked at her for a long moment, and then nodded. "We'll start with Mondays and Thursdays at six, if that works for you. Which it does, since I make your schedule."

Bucky blinked. "Wait, what?"

"For therapy," Sam explained. "What did you think I meant?"

"I thought you were firing me!"

Sam laughed. "Like I could do that without losing half my staff in the custody battle," he said. "But if you're going to stay here, I need to know you're trying. I'm not a trained therapist, but I've worked with vets before. If you think there's a conflict of interest because I'm your boss, we can bring someone in. Steve's mentioned how you feel about therapy, so I thought it might be better for you to work with someone you know."

"This place is so incestuous," Bucky commented. 

"So you want to talk to someone else?"

"Hell no," Bucky said. Hesitating, she warned, "It might not be pretty."

"It never is," Sam agreed. 

Bucky put her hands on the back of the chair in front of her, looking closely at the camp director. "This seems like a big risk to take just for Steve. You don't think the parents will have an issue with having me around their kids?"

"First of all, we're not doing this for Steve. We're doing it for you. And if any parents or guardians take an issue with it, they can come talk to me so I can tell them how great having you here is for the kids."

Bucky rolled her eyes. "If getting skewered is good for them, okay."

"Marie D’Ancanto came by to see my the other day for our end of the session recap, which I do with all the kids. Do you know what she said? That you were her favorite counselor. That you helped her feel at home, even though she never knew what it was supposed to feel like."

"She's a good kid," Bucky said gruffly, fighting to stay composed. 

"She is," Sam agreed. "She's been through a lot and she's done her fair amount. That doesn't mean she's irredeemable."

"Subtle," Bucky said, looking away. 

"Mondays and Thursdays," Sam repeated. "We'll meet up in the crafts room to give us some space."

Bucky saluted lazily and then turned to go. She paused in the doorframe, metal hand resting on the wood, and said, "Thanks."

\----

Letting out a slow breath, Bucky rapped on the door in front of her. She let her knuckles rest on the wood after the last knock, feeling the grain under her skin. 

After a moment, Bucky considered turning around again, but then the door opened under her hand. 

"Bucky," Bruce greeted, sounding surprised. 

Bucky held up the mugs held by their handles in her metal hand. "Tea?"

Instead of pointing out that it was nearly eleven at night, Bruce held open the door wider. "Come on in."

Bucky had never been to Bruce's bedroom before, always meeting him in his clinic or the group areas, and its appearance surprised her. Whereas the clinic was sparsely decorated, Bruce's room was full of knickknacks, and his bed was piled high with boldly patterned quilts and pillows. 

Bucky faltered for a second, thrown off by the unexpected colors, and then turned and pressed a mug into Bruce's hand. "Here. It's green tea with honey."

"You know how I take my tea?"

"Soldiers have to be aware in all situations, even at breakfast," Bucky said seriously, and then smirked.

Bruce laughed and took a sip of the tea. He waved for her to sit down at the chair by his desk, and he perched on the edge of his bed. 

Bucky hesitated before sitting down, but then set her mug down with a clunk onto the desk. "I'm here to apologize."

"You don't have anything to apologize for," Bruce said immediately. 

"I get you're a gentleman or whatever, but I attacked you. I could have killed you. So, I'm sorry," Bucky said. 

Shaking his head, Bruce said, "You didn't attack me."

"Really?" said Bucky bitingly. "Because I seem to remember holding a carving fork over your head."

"Aimed at everyone else," Bruce pointed out. "You heard the firework, and your first instinct was to protect me."

"I..." Bucky thought back. The memories were hazy, blurred with the blood and heat of the flashback. 

"If anything, I should be flattered," Bruce said, "that you thought I was worth protecting."

"Of course you're worth protecting," Bucky replied. "Look, I just don't think I should have put you in that situation without warning you."

"You don't have to tell me anything," Bruce said. 

Bucky paused, and looked over at him. Though his posture was open and relaxed, his eyes were focused on her. Often when he spoke to people, his gaze skipped around the room, but when they spoke, even his anxiety couldn't stop him from making eye contact. "I want to. If you want to hear. It's not a nice story."

Raising his eyebrows, Bruce said, "We're...friends, aren't we? I like you, and want to get to know you better. That means the good stuff and the bad."

Nodding, Bucky picked up her mug and took a sip of the tea. It was cold from the time it took her to work up the nerve to knock on the doctor's door. Holding it in her hands to keep them occupied, Bucky said, "I told you about the IED. That happened November 17th, 2012. I didn't get back to America until February.

"I still don't know why they took us hostage. Maybe they just wanted test subjects, or maybe they wanted to get revenge. I don't know if I care about the why anymore. It was three of us, locked away in some terrorist hideaway. It was dark and hot and musty, and I couldn't keep what was left of my arm clean for the life of me. They poured antiseptic on it at some point, wrapped it in cloth, carved away the, the loose ends, but there were no pain meds. By the time I got out, the entire arm was gangrenous and the two guys with me were long dead."

Bucky took a shaky breath. "I can't...I can't talk about what all happened in that cell. But now I have all of these things that send me back there. Not just the fireworks and loud noises, but little things. If you're around me, you need to know that it's a possibility that anything could trigger me. I don't want to hurt you. If you, uh, want to keep your distance, I understand. But if you're going to be around me, you should stay on your guard."

"I'm not scared of you." 

Bucky looked him up and down. He was staring at her, face pale, his hands gripping his mug so tightly that she was surprised it hadn't shattered. "Yeah. Sure."

"I'm not scared," he repeated, words clipped. "I'm angry. I'm furious that they did that to you, and I'm furious that you think I'd just walk away."

"You don't owe me anything," Bucky said. 

"I don't," Bruce agreed. "So let me make up my own mind."

Sighing, Bucky said, "I understood it from Steve. But why are you so invested in me?"

Still clearly angry, Bruce said, "I was _hoping_ to take you out to dinner sometime. I'm not letting that chance slip away before I can even ask."

Completely thrown off, Bucky asked, "Dinner, like _dinner_?" 

"Dinner like dinner," Bruce confirmed, setting his mug on the ground by his bed. "If you hadn't noticed, I'm sort of over the moon about you." Hesitating, he reached up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly. "This may not have been the best time to tell you that." 

"It's not how people usually react when I attack them-- protect them," she corrected with an eye-roll when Bruce opened his mouth. Looking him up and down again, slower this time, she added, "You're serious?"

Bruce huffed out a laugh. "You're gorgeous, funny, smart, tough-- I've been interested in you since the first day."

Snorting, Bucky said, "You mean when I yelled at you across the dinner table?"

"What can I say? I like people who speak their minds." He gave her a lopsided smile. "What do say? Dinner?"

"Screw dinner," Bucky said, standing up. 

Bruce looked disappointed for a brief second before she crossed the room and straddled him. Taking advantage of his stunned silence, Bucky pulled the mug from his hand and set it on his nightstand. 

"I..." Bruce said, eyes wide and darting over her face. 

Raising her eyebrows, she said, "Well? Are you going to kiss me? Or do I have to--"

Her sentence trailed off as one of Bruce's hands pushed up through her loose hair to cradle her skull and then pulled her forward. Bruce kissed her softly, teasingly, and the steady attention made her melt against him. 

After a minute of enjoying the kiss, Bucky reached down and tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head. Though he didn't have the defined muscles that Steve or Thor had, his broad chest was solid under a sweep of chest hair. Bucky ran her hands back down the front of his torso, let her nails trace lightly against his skin. 

Groaning, Bruce kissed her and reached to tug Bucky's shirt over her head, but she drew back from the kiss. "Leave it on," she muttered, kissing along his cheekbone to his ear. 

"That doesn't seem fair," Bruce said dryly, though Bucky was pleased to note that his voice was unsteady. 

"We'll both be happier with it on. Don't make it weird," Bucky grumbled, capturing his lips again. 

However, he pulled back slightly, ignoring her quiet whine at the loss of contact. "I can guarantee you I would be much happier with it off," he said. 

Faltering, Bucky tried for a smirk. "Only a man would think boobs make up for a lost limb."

"Only an idiot would think it mattered," Bruce said. He ran his fingers along her hem again, and met her eyes. "Let me?"

Startled, Bucky nodded and let Bruce pull her tank top over her head. "No bra?" he said, large hands coming up to span her ribs. 

Slightly breathless already, Bucky said, "I was off work for the day-- that means the bra also comes off." She squirmed deliberately down on him when his hands didn't move up. "What are you going to do about it, Banner?"

Bruce's smile grew into a smirk, and he flipped their positions, pushing her further onto the bed and hovering over her. She could have dislodged him or run away, but Bucky just let him take over, stretching her arms above her head. 

Bruce kissed his way down her neck straight to her breasts, not hesitating as his lips moved over the scars. "Beautiful," he said, and any protest Bucky had was silenced with a gasp as Bruce took one of her nipples into his mouth. 

Like when he rode horses, the normally scattered doctor kissed with laser focus, making Bucky feel like her every gasp and twitch was being recorded somewhere inside him. 

Nearly bursting with sensation, she reached for him, but he carefully took her wrists in his hands and directed them toward his headboard. Bucky latched onto one of the slats, and Bruce's eyes darkened. "Just let me do this," he requested softly. "Stay there."

Bucky hadn't gotten as far as she was in life without ever realizing her submissive preferences in sexual situations. Usually, though, the men she was with didn't qualify to fulfill that kink, and Bucky stayed on top, rocking their worlds on her own terms. With Bruce, though, she let her hands stay tucked away, leaving her body open to the doctor. 

Bruce's attention returned to her breasts, though one hand was pulling down her sweatpants. She hadn't planned on this tonight, and so was wearing boring gray underwear, but her misgivings flew out of her head as Bruce began to kiss a trail lower. As he moved, his hand pushed the underwear and pants lower until Bucky was able to kick them onto the floor. 

Even grasping the headboard tightly, Bucky nearly arched off the bed when large hands nudged her legs apart and a dry kiss was dropped on her inner thigh. 

"Stop being such a fucking tease," Bucky hissed through gritted teeth. 

"Patience is a virtue," Bruce said, kissing her other thigh. He was close enough that she could feel his breath on her center. 

Pressing her legs to the comforter in an attempt to stop herself from flipping them over, Bucky let out a shaky laugh. "God, you're such a-- oooh."

Bruce's had a surgeon's hands, but his tongue was fucking magical. He alternated between light touches and long strokes, making her squirm in anticipation for the next swipe. She was nearly out of her mind, wrapped in the sensation, when a warm finger slid inside her. It felt great, but after only a few pulses, she needed... "More," she growled. "Get inside me, now."

There was a worrying pause. "I don't have any condoms," Bruce admitted. 

"You're a goddamn doctor," Bucky said incredulously. "I'm on the pill. Get on with it."

"I'm a doctor," Bruce agreed. "Which is why we're not risking anything. Don't worry," he added when she groaned. "I'm not letting you leave yet." 

She opened her mouth to argue, but decided against it when Bruce's mouth descended with renewed vigor, and another finger was added to the first. Steadily, inexorably, he led her toward orgasm. When bliss had finished rolling through her, she slumped back onto the pillow, letting go of the headboard. 

When Bruce raised his eyebrows, Bucky looked up behind her to see that her metal hand had crushed the wooden slat. “Whoops,” she said. 

“Can’t say I’ve ever made someone do that before,” Bruce said with a smirk. 

“The arm gave you the advantage,” Bucky said, clenching her thighs around him and flipping them over, “but let’s see what I can make you do.”

\---- 

The next morning, Bucky awoke to Bruce tracing idle patterns on her stomach. She snuggled against him, closing her eyes immediately when she saw how bright the room was. “What time is it?” she muttered. 

“Only nine,” Bruce said. “We missed breakfast, but we’ll see the kids before they leave at ten.”

Bucky sighed heavily, tucking her face into his chest. His fingers never stopped tracing idle patterns on her stomach. “You don’t have to do that,” she muttered. 

“Do what?”

“The whole ‘your scars are beautiful’ thing. Trust me, I’ve seen them. They’re not pretty,” Bucky said, not looking at him. 

“They’re not,” Bruce agreed. “But I’m grateful they exist.”

“They’re evidence that I was blown up and tortured.” 

"They’re evidence that you’re alive and here,” Bruce corrected. “You’re a survivor. They're a part of you, which means I love them."

Bucky looked up, grinning. "You love me, huh?"

A blush rose in Bruce's cheeks. "Can we pretend I was cool and didn't say that?"

"Nope, I heard it, I can't forget it now," Bucky said, leaning up to kiss him. "You're stuck with me."

Bruce smiled against her lips. "I can live with that."

\----

Getting all dozen kids and their bags onto the bus was an act of controlled chaos. The teens were leaving camp tanned and smiling, but just as energetic as when they arrived. 

At least, most of them were. 

Bucky found Marie sitting on the hill overlooking the bus, bag on the grass beside her. Her long mesh shirt had been replaced with a purple tank top, and she had gotten some color in her skin. The melancholy expression, however, had only gotten worse. 

Plopping down on the hill beside Marie, Bucky said, "Nice weather we're having."

"Depends on your definition. It's like a hundred degrees out," Marie replied. 

"Afghanistan is worse."

Marie shook her head. "You can't use that to win every argument," she complained. 

Bucky raised her eyebrows. "And yet." Leaning back on her hands, she asked, "Shouldn't you be saying your goodbyes and getting on the bus?"

"Yeah, because I'm in a real rush to get home," Marie drawled. She sighed. "I'm just taking a minute. I'll be on the bus when it leaves."

"I'm not going to patronize you," Bucky said. "I don't doubt for a second that your home life is rough. But you know what? You're almost eighteen, and then the world becomes your oyster."

Marie dropped her head onto her raised knees. "I'm scared," she admitted in a tiny voice. "I may not like the foster homes, but at least someone is looking out for me. What's going to happen to me when I'm all on my own?"

Raising her eyebrows, Bucky said, "You're not on your own. In case you hadn't noticed, you've got a crew of people who care about you here." When Marie didn't reply, Bucky reached in her back pocket and pulled out her phone. "Give me your number, then I'll text you. That way you have my direct line, though you can always reach me through Sam or Steve."

Looking up at her, Marie said, "You're giving me your cell number?"

"And I'm expecting you to use it. I don't care if it's because you're strung out, or lost, or lonely, or just bored. You call me when you need me," Bucky said. "Us misfits need to stick together. Besides, I know these guys would never forgive me if something happened to you. Peter especially seems pretty attached."

Marie relayed her number and then asked, "You really want me to call you?"

"I do," Bucky said. "Keep me updated on how the college search goes. Don't leave me out here on the farm with no ladies to talk to."

"Natasha's a lady," Marie pointed out, and she was smiling now. 

Bucky laughed. "No, she's not. And neither am I. We need you around to class up the joint," she said, nodding toward Marie's long white gloves. "Now come on. It looks like they're loading up."

Once Marie was settled in her seat, Bucky pulled up her number and typed in a quick text. 

_come home soon_

Judging by the smile Marie wore as the bus drove away, Bucky thought her message had been clear. 

\----

Epilogue

\----

She was not going to cry. She _wasn't_. There were about a thousand eyes on her at the dais, and this wasn't about her, and she was _not going to cry._

"I now pronounce you legally married."

Dammit. She was crying. 

Steve took Tony into his arms. The audience cheered as they kissed, sealing the deal. When the kiss continued on past the end of the applause, Bucky exchanged a long-suffering look with Tony's best man, a pilot named Rhodey. Bucky had been pleased to realize that the only person more exasperated with Tony's inner diva was his best friend. There was a whoop from the crowd, and Steve pulled back, blushing bright red and beaming. 

By the time she had made sure the new groom wasn't going to swoon and checked a bathroom mirror to make sure her eyes weren't red (they were), the reception hall had filled with all of the wedding guests. Luckily, Steve had managed to convince Tony to keep the wedding intimate, despite his insistence that Stark weddings were supposed to overshadow all celebrity weddings from the last decade. 

Instead of being crowded with businessmen and politicians looking to glad-hand the new Stark-Rogers couple, the small reception hall was full of friends. Both of the grooms were orphans, but that didn't mean the head table wasn't full of family. 

Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, was sitting between Sam and Rhodey, and was looking resplendent in gold, despite her own red, puffy eyes. Bucky would have resented her for the way she made crying look attractive if it weren't for the fact that Pepper had quickly risen to the status of one of Bucky's favorite people there after seeing her stop by Falcon to collect Tony one day. Anyone who could make Tony Stark listen was ace in her books. 

Peter was sitting beside Steve, and hadn't stopped smiling since the grooms had told him that he had a place at the family table. He had just finished his first year at NYU, and was spending the summer in Stark Tower in Manhattan with Tony. 

Clint and Natasha sat on the end, Lucky on the ground between them. As usual, they were wrapped up in each other and ignoring everyone else. 

Beside the last empty seat was Bruce, who smiled up at her the moment he spotted her. As she sat down, tucking her dress haphazardly under her, he said, "Have I mentioned how gorgeous you look?"

"Have I mentioned how uncomfortable I am?" Bucky asked, pulling up the front of her dress. Between Tony and Steve, they had managed to pick a relatively tame scarlet and pale gold color scheme. Pepper and the other groomsmen were in themes of gold. Rhodey had gotten away with a red vest, but Bucky had been bullied into wearing a luxurious sleeveless scarlet dress that kept threatening to slip down. They had ignored her protests about her scars, and Bucky had been convinced when Steve nearly teared up seeing her in it. When her face wasn't gross from crying, she could admit that the color worked well with her tan skin, dark hair, and bright silver arm. Rather than wearing her usual braid, one of Tony's stylists had swept the whole thick mass into a delicate bun. 

"Gorgeous," Bruce repeated, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

Unsurprisingly, the food was amazing, even though it included some of Steve's stranger favorites, like barszcz and kielbasa (an old Polish woman back in Brooklyn had made it her mission to feed Steve up when they were younger). 

Once everyone had eaten and was sitting around chatting, Rhodey stood up and tapped his fork against his (actual crystal) champagne flute. "I wish I could say that I was surprised and honored when Tony picked me as his best man," Rhodey began as the audience quieted down, "but that'd be a lie. He knows full well that I'd have killed him if he's picked anyone else for the job.

"I've known Tony since he was a punk-ass kid at MIT with too much money and brains to know what to do with. I've seen him at his worst, but I've also seen him at his best. Tony may be arrogant and thoughtless and obnoxious and--"

"We get it, honey bear," Tony said to general laughter. 

Rhodey shook his head, but continued, "But he's also brilliant, hilarious, and selfless. He's a crazy son of a bitch, but there's no one I'd rather have in my corner when things get tough. Steve, you're a lucky guy, and don't you dare forget it." He raised his glass, and then crowd followed. "Here's to Steve and Tony. May they drive each other crazy every day, and love each other all the more for it."

When Rhodey sat back down, Tony leaned over, grabbed his face, and pressed a smacking kiss on his cheek. 

Bucky stood up and cleared her throat. "Time for the best man speech part two," she said. "And then cake, so everyone should pay close attention."

That got everyone's attention. The cake the grooms had catered towered over the head table, a fantastic concoction of cream fondue and cascading dark red roses. Having helped pick out the flavors for each tier, Bucky was already looking forward to her first bite.

"I've known Steve Rogers since he was a scrawny pup. Have you ever seen a chihuahua try to take on a pit bull, not realizing that it's about to get its ass kicked? That was Steve. He's bigger now, but he's just as yappy. He's also more loyal than any dog you've ever met, because when he picks someone to love, he puts every bit of his mind and soul into it. Steve Rogers is my other half. Yes, I know that Tony just took that title, but let me finish talking. Steve Rogers is part of me. Losing him would be like losing a limb-- worse, actually. You can get over losing a limb," she said, lifting up her metal arm and waving at the audience, "but I could never get over losing Steve.

"Tony, you take care of this one," Bucky continued, turning to the man in question. "His body can back up his big mouth now, but that doesn't mean he's invincible. I'm glad you two found each other. If there's anyone in this world who can love this dope as much as I do, it's you." 

Tony gave her a lazy salute, but his smile when he looked back at Steve was full of adoration. 

"If anyone wants to hear embarrassing stories about Steve, come find me. I had too many to pick from to tell here," Bucky said. "Now, to the happy couple!" she continued, raising her glass, grinning down at Steve, "all the happiness in the world. Welcome to the family."

When the grooms cut the cake, Tony swiped a streak of icing deliberately across Steve's forehead, so Steve, her unfailingly competitive best friend, grabbed his own scoop of icing to swipe across Tony's cheek. Further retaliation seemed imminent, but then Steve ducked forward and licked it away. Instead of a food fight, Bucky found herself debating whether she should break up their impromptu make-out session. Luckily, Rhodey seemed well-versed in corralling Tony, and soon the grooms were ushered onto the dance floor for their first dance. 

Bucky leaned against the wall, watching them sway in the middle of the room. Bruce found her and took the spot beside her. "If you had ever told me that Tony was going to get married to the most genuinely nice guy in the world, I never would have believed it," he murmured. 

"I'd say that I had never imagined Steve marrying a scoundrel, but that'd be a lie. He is _my_ best friend, after all. And Tony seems drawn to nice, sane people."

"Thanks, I think," Bruce replied. 

"I meant Pepper and Rhodey," Bucky teased. "You, Bruce, are not nice."

"Oh, really?"

Bucky nodded seriously. "Remember last night when I _begged_ you to put your--"

Face flushing, Bruce caught her hand and pulled her to the dance floor. "Oh, look, everyone's dancing," he said loudly. 

Laughing, Bucky went along with him. The music had changed into a boy band pop song that had been blasting from the kids' cabins all summer. Bruce muttered the words as she grinded against Bruce, arms wrapped around her waist and lips close to her ear. "That's what makes you beautiful," he sang. 

Beaming, she moved to kiss him, but was stopped short by a tap on her shoulder. "May I cut in?" Peter asked, grinning. 

"You're such a brat," Bruce said, but he took his hands off of Bucky's waist.

Peter swept her away. He danced like he talked, with exaggerated gestures and boundless energy. He spun her in circles until she was dizzy. 

When he finally gave her a chance to breathe, she asked, "So how are things with Marie? Are you going to see her this summer?" Peter and Marie had started dating long-distance after camp the summer before, and had been going steady ever since. 

"Only for a weekend in July, but she got into Parson's for the fall," Peter said, grinning. 

"No shit, she's going to go to New York? That's awesome!" Bucky said. 

Peter grinned. "My cell phone bill is going to thank me," he said. 

"Next time you talk to her, tell her we're overdue for a chat. It's been hectic with this wedding, but I'll call her as soon as this nightmare is over," Bucky said. 

"You did not just call my wedding a nightmare," Steve said, coming up beside them. 

Bucky turned to him, eyebrows raised. "You were a Bridezilla," she told him. 

"I just like to be in charge," Steve said. 

Scoffing, Bucky said, "Yeah, I noticed. Dance with me?"

Peter headed over to get a slice of cake, which was being served to the people who were sitting out the dance, and Steve pulled Bucky into a swing dance. The music was all wrong and they hadn't danced like that in years, but Bucky was laughing as she spun. 

"Do you remember taking lessons from Ms. Olzewitz?" Bucky asked when he pulled her back around. "Considering how tiny your feet were, you managed to leave an awful lot of bruises on me."

Laughing, Steve pointed out. "You wore heels. My feet ended up in much worse shape than yours."

"Yeah, but I stepped on you on purpose."

Steve just raised his eyebrows. 

Rolling her eyes, Bucky said, "I should have known. You've always been a punk."

The song slowed and Steve pulled her forward. She looped her arms around his neck, swaying gently. "Shouldn't you be dancing with your husband?"

"Pepper commandeered him," Steve explained. "Besides, I wanted a dance with my best girl."

"Was it just me, or did Pepper and Sam look awfully close during dinner?"

"It's technically a secret, but they went on a date last week. Apparently it went well."

"I see what you guys are doing," Bucky said. "Camp Falcon is whoring out its resident hotties to Stark Industries for more money."

"Resident hotties," Steve repeated incredulously. 

Bucky rolled her eyes. "You don't need to tell you that you're hot. You've got a husband for that now." Her smile fell into something more melancholy. "I can't believe you have a husband."

"Me either," Steve said. 

"Just because you're a billionaire doesn't mean you get out of living in the same cul-de-sac as me someday," she added. "We pinky-promised that shit."

"How do you feel about moving back to New York someday?"

"Brooklyn's in my blood," she said with a shrug. 

"I was thinking more Midtown. SI headquarters is there, and the Tower has extra floors. Clint and Natasha have already called one for themselves."

Raising her eyebrows, Bucky pulled back to look at him. "You're serious?"

"Tony spends most of his time there, and Peter's in New York. We're thinking of opening another branch of Falcon a bit outside the city so kids can stay local and still get support."

"That's... You've really thought about this," Bucky said. 

"I know you love country life," Steve said. "And I'll be back out to visit the home base whenever I can."

"On your private jet," Bucky added. 

"And I can fly you in to visit me whenever. Just remember that the invitation's open. There's always space for you wherever I am."

Bucky hugged him right, tucking her nose into his neck. "You're such a sap," she said. She gave him one more tight squeeze as the song ended, and then stepped back. "Now go find your husband. You guys should sneak out early if you can, start the honeymoon early."

Steve blushed, but nodded. "Love you, Buck."

"Love you too, Stevie," she replied. 

Smile falling slightly as he walked away, Bucky went to the cake table to snag a slice. Sitting at an empty table, she stabbed her plastic fork into the cake. Luckily, the lemon-raspberry tier was just as good as she remembered. She polished it off in record time, and licked the fork to chase the last of the flavor. 

"Are you trying to kill me?" Bruce asked, sitting down beside her. 

Raising her eyebrows, Bucky have the fork one last lascivious lick. "Maybe," she allowed, setting the fork down. "Is it working?"

"Absolutely," Bruce said. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm at my best friend's wedding and I've got cake," Bucky said. "What could I complain about?"

"The great thing about dating someone is that you don't have to have a reason to complain to them," Bruce pointed out, but didn't press her for more. 

"Steve's got everything together," Bucky said. "Meanwhile, I still have panic attacks every time a car backfires. What am I supposed to do without him?" She slumped her head into her hands. "Sorry, I'm pathetic."

"You're not pathetic," Bruce to her. "You've been getting better. You're working on it, seeing Sam twice a week, letting people in. And you're not alone. Steve's not leaving you, and neither am I. You've got some stubborn people who love you, so you might as well get used to it."

Bucky let him pull her to her feet and lead her to the dance floor. Over the speakers, a soft voice was crooning about love and loss. 

Sighing, she let him hold her close. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, and then followed the line of her neck to her shoulder, kissing the scars indiscriminately until he reached her metal arm. "I love you," he said, kissing his way back up. 

She met his lips when they reached hers again. "Love you too," she murmured. 

They danced until the reception hall was nearly empty, wrapped up in each other and the feeling of home. 

\---

**Author's Note:**

> Fem!Bucky's appearance is based on this gorgeous fanart: http://felixandria.tumblr.com/post/86182536816/til-the-end-of-the-line
> 
> Also, this was written on my iPhone, so excuse any horrific autocorrect moments.


End file.
